A Whisper to a Scream
by Beccatdemon13
Summary: The worst thing about crossing a line, is not realizing you already have. By the time they realize it's too late; nothing can take them off the path they're heading down. Every Saint needs a guardian angel and she'll be damned if they get hurt.
1. The Saints and the Sinner

**Whisper to a Scream**

By: Beccatdemon13

©2010

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anyone except for Allison Riona MacManus as well as anyone you don't immediately recognize. Please don't sue. You'd only be getting a hell of a lot of textbooks. What? Don't look at me like that College isn't a paying gig you know. But god I wish it was. Beccatdemon13 now will go off to fantasize about the lack of tuition payments that being paid would bring. Oh, right, the story! On we go…

**Synopsis: **She didn't know which was louder, her pounding heart or the deafening echoes of boots following after her. Allison MacManus wouldn't regret the decisions leading up to this moment, however, because every Saint needs a guardian angel.

**Author's Note:** This will mostly follow events of the show. As always character concepts are posted on my profile. Some of the chapter titles will be in either Latin or Irish Gaelic. The English translations will be directly under it or beside it if it's in conversation so you don't have to scroll to figure out what every one is saying. I'm coming clean right now by saying the only languages I know fluently are German and English so if I use French, Irish Gaelic, Latin, or Spanish they'll be taken from translation sites. I am also lacking in knowledge about the Roman Catholic Church. If I make any horrendous, errors please tell me. Another thing is that Connor and Murphy are 25 years old. Assume spoilers for both movies as well.

**Chapter One: The Saints and the Sinner**

It was a good thing my nickname was Trioblóid, trouble; otherwise I would wonder why it always found me no matter where I happened to be. After twenty-five years, you'd think I would be use to things going sideways but I was still surprised every single time it happened.

Though nothing was more surprising then waking up in a hospital bed. I was connected to a half dozen wires and had no idea how I had gotten there. I got up noticing that the area between my legs ached, as did my stomach and my neck. I frowned as I noticed that my arm forearms were wrapped in gauze. I pitched some wires off of me and pulled my IV out. I swung my legs off the bed and stood awkwardly to my feet, teetering for balance for an instant. Once I had regained my balance, I walked to the end of the bed and pulled out the chart.

There were a few reports pinned to the clipboard. Most of them talked about the contusions and lacerations wrapped around my wrists, my side, and the side of my neck. Well, that explained the white bandages that stood out against my already pale skin.

My eyes then roamed the rest of the chart and I found what they had been calling me. Doe, Jane. I snorted at that figurin that I had no other means of identification because my name was Allison MacManus, not Jane Doe.

"What are you doing out of bed?" A nurse gasped.

I turned on my heel with the chart still in my hand, feeling bad for the poor woman who was just trying to make her rounds.

"Sorry fer startlin' ye," I replied. "I wanted ta find out wot was wrong wit' me."

My Irish brogue obviously started the woman who reminded me suddenly of my Ma. I grinned at the woman's confusion as she stared at me. As the nurse continued to look at me, I wondered how long I had been in this hospital. If it had been more than forty-eight hours, Ma was probably going out of her mind with worry. After my brothers had gone to the States nearly ten years ago, she had been keeping close tabs on them and me too. I talked to her every week without fail.

"What's your name?" The nurse asked.

"Oh, I'm Allison MacManus," I answered. "Pleased ta meet ya."

"Honey, you still be in bed," The nurse chided. "Did you take all of this off of you?"

"Guilty," I responded.

I took the older women's advice and sat back on my bed. "Wot happened ta me?"

"You were found beaten in an alley not far from here," The nurse explained.

"Was I raped?" I asked.

"Yes," The nurse whispered placing her hand on mine. "I'm so sorry."

"Why don' I remember anythin'?" I whimpered.

"It might be better if you don't remember," The nurse said. "You were in a right state when you first got here."

"How long 'ave I been 'ere?" I demanded.

"A little over a week," The nurse stated.

"Holy shite," I mumbled. "Am I okay?"

"Well physically you're healed but there can still be psychological ramifications as result of your ordeal," the nurse explained.

"I'll be fine," I disagreed. "I'd like discharge papers and a phone, please."

The nurse frowned at me but said nothing as she walked out of the room to draw up the papers I wanted. I grabbed the phone that was in the room and quickly dialed my childhood home's number. It rang twice before it picked up.

"Ally, is dat ye?" Ma demanded over the line.

"Aye, Ma," I replied.

"Wot tha 'ell's the matta wit' ye?" Ma growled. "Ye're supposed ta be the one dat gives me peace."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was in the hospital"

"Wot?" Ma snapped. "Wot happened?"

"I don' really remember," I frowned. "I woke up a half hour ago." At Ma's sharp intake of breath, I forged on. "But, I'm alright, Ma. I'm being discharged right now. I just wanted to let ya know wot was goin on."

"Are ye sure ye're alright?" Ma asked.

"Yes, Ma," I said.

"Promise me, Ally," Ma prompted.

"I promise," I said.

"Good, now ye should go get some rest and call me soon," Ma ordered.

"Yes, Ma," I nodded.

The phone line disconnected and I smiled at the phone before I placed it on the cradle. I moved around the room and found the clothes that I had been wearing that day. I quickly changed, signed the papers and left the hospital. I realized that I had been taken to the hospital that was only a few blocks away from my apartment. I slid inside, thankful that I still had my keys and wallet. Although, there was still no ID in sight.

I quickly locked the door behind me before I slid down onto my couch. A few weeks ago, my life had been going exactly how I had planned it but now I wasn't so sure. There was a whole week o my life that I had no memory of and I really didn't like that. I use to think that I would happy being a translator for the British parliament but now I wasn't so sure. Part of me thought that if I had gone with my brother's to the States then none of this would've ever happened. Because for as much trouble as I got into when I was little, they were always there the second things went physical.

As I said previously my name's Allison MacManus and I am technically the youngest child of Annabelle and Noah MacManus. I was a triplet sharing the womb with my brothers Connor and Murphy. It was a fact that my mother never ceased to complain about saying how we three ruined her girlish figure and sucked her dry in one fail swoop. At least that was the only thing my mother ever came clean about.

Growing up we were in a near constant argument of who was older than whom. We would yell at each other until things finally went physical. We had started fighting about it when we were six and it wasn't until Sixth Form where Ma finally said something. I guess we were shouting to much about it because Ma finally shouted from the kitchen, "The one wit' the bigger cock came out ferst! Now shut yer traps."

Connor always seemed to be the oldest because while both he and Murphy had raised hell at nearly every opportunity, he was the first to be serious and give orders. Connor also was more reserved in his emotions, more in control, compared to Murph at least. When I had voiced that statement I was told to mind my own business. I think Connor and Murphy just wanted to argue about who was older, though, it was very clear that I had come out last. It was something that could get very irksome if one o' them were in a particular bossy mood. Although, I handle my own in most circumstances. Just because Conn and Murph were protective didn't mean they couldn't beat the crap out of me. It was only when someone else tried that they flipped out.

The three of us had similar features the most prominent were our sapphire blue eyes. We also had the same square facial structure. Of course, they looked slightly different facial wise just based on gender but our chins were the same. Murphy and I had a silky black mane while Connor had dirty blonde hair. Murphy and Connor were both five foot eleven, while I was five foot four. That was another cause to most of our bickering growing up. Looking back, I was surprised that our mother didn't kill us. Annabelle MacManus was known for many things but being patient wasn't one of them.

For the past seven years, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life and now I just wasn't so sure. Ma had insisted that my brothers and I were cultured, making us learn multiple languages. Those languages were Russian, Italian, Spanish, French, German, and Irish Gaelic. As close as Murphy, Conn, and I were, we hadn't seen one another in two years. They had wanted to go to America, for something new while I wanted to go to University to become a translator. It was a career path that made the most sense since my multilingual background. The fact that we knew so many languages made it very easy to keep things private with one another anywhere without fear of being overheard. Ma had also made the three of us go through sixth forms, which was necessary for university but other than that it was optional.

I graduated from Trinity College in Dublin when I was twenty-three with a Bachelor's and Master's degree in Linguistics. The last time I saw my brothers and nearly the rest of our fairly large family with all our Aunts, Uncles, and cousins was at my college graduation. After graduating with honors, I found a job in Liverpool, England working within the parliamentary system as a translator. Sometimes I had to go to London but my primary job was in Liverpool, which I liked since I was only six hours from home (ferry included).

My brothers and I had always been close and it took a little getting use to. I had been use to having them around no matter where I was or if I were with non-mutual friends. Still, the fact that I hadn't really talked to them since I saw them last hurt more than I wanted to admit. Ma was the one who gave me updates on what they were doing. She had said that she constantly ripped into them, especially on St. Patrick's Day. That was why I loved my Ma, she always managed to prank them and it was hilarious.

Whenever I needed guidance in my life, there was one place that had always helped me. As corny as it sounded whenever I needed help I turned to my church. It helped that my Uncle Sibeal, the only tie to my father that I had since the man had ditched us when the three of us were only babies, was a priest. I think even if Uncle Sibeal wasn't a priest, the family would still be religious as we always were.

It was also a testament to how small my hometown of Monaghan, Ireland was. The houses were spread everywhere, though it was an easy walk to the town center where a few restaurants and a pub or two. My Uncle Sibeal managed to not only be a priest but also be the owner of a pub called, The Anvil.

Sundays and holidays when I was growing up consisted of going to church and then going to The Anvil for brunch. It was one of the few times that the entire family got together. We all went to church and then walked to the Anvil together. There was always a lot of laughing and arguing and drinking.

Though I was six hours away, there was still a church I could go to pray until I felt grounded again. I was glad that whatever happened to me; the person who did it left my rosary in tact. It was brown wooden beads, interspersed with silver accents and a wooden cross. My brothers had identical ones and the three of us wore them whenever we went out. As long as I had my rosary, I still had that connection to my family and it was at that moment when I realized that I needed that connection the most.

**Three Months Later**

There was just something that made South Boston, Massachusetts feel like home. Maybe it was because South Boston, or Southie, as it was better known to most of its inhabitants was filled with workin class Irish-Americans. Or people straight from Ireland. I had been here for a little over four hours and constantly saw similarities between Southie and home. Although, things seemed to happen much more quickly here then in Ireland's countryside. I liked it, though. It reminded me so much the bustling city life of Liverpool while having the little quirks I had come to associate with home.

After I told Ma that I couldn't be in Liverpool, anymore she had told me to go to the States. She made it sound so simple, telling me that she never really expected Murph, Conn, and I to be separated for as long as we had been. I tried to carry on with my every day routine but I found even when I was at work, I couldn't stop thinking about what happened. I still didn't remember and that was the most frustrating.

I couldn't remember and I still had reminders about that night. The were two deep scars that wrapped around my wrist. The doctor had told me that it was probably as a result of the person tying me up and me fighting. I filed his words away, at time I was just focused on getting out of the hospital. There was also the scar at the base of my neck, red and angry against my pale skin. There was also the one on my side, but that was easily hidden.

The reminders were mocking but the nightmares were worse. I use to have nightmares when I was a kid but these were worse. They left me awake and sobbing for hours, unwilling to try to sleep again. So, I did what I had always done when I couldn't cope with something I ran to Connor and Murphy. Sure, I was twenty-five years old but those instincts were so ingrained. The flight was long and it left me exhausted as I wandered all around Southie looking for my brother's best friend's place.

When Connor and Murphy had come to the States, they had taken their best friend Donovan McCallister with them. Donovan, otherwise known as Van was someone we had grown up with. He had been a damn near constant stable in our house that Ma joked about getting another bed just for him. Van was our age, though he towered over the three of us at six foot three. He had kind brown eyes and messy brown hair.

Unlike my brothers, Van had come to the States knowing what he was going to do. When we were kids one of his Uncles had moved abroad and opened up a pub in the heart of Southie. When his Uncle Declan grew too old, he had let Van take over. That led to the boys having an instant roof over their heads since Declan had owned the entire building, which had a fully furnished apartment above the bar.

I knew my brothers didn't work with Van at the bar but other than that I didn't know what they did. Ma hadn't known either and I knew that bothered her. I had packed up everything I owned that was important into two suitcases and a left Europe and nearly everything I knew behind.

I bit my lip as I wandered around Southie with fairly large suitcases, where the hell was this pub? Just when I was about to give up and call it a day I saw the brightly lit sign of the bar. It was called The Office and it looked like a fairly decent place. Shouldering my backpack further up on my shoulders and griping my suitcase tighter, I walked across the street and into the bar.

I pushed through the door and walked into the open space. Music and alcohol was flowing and people seemed to be having a goo time. I walked closer to where the person behind the counter was standing. She was about my height was blonde hair and hazel eyes.

"How can I help you?" She asked the moment I got closer.

"I'm lookin fer Donovan McCallister?" I explained.

"He's out with friends," She replied somewhat suspiciously. "There something I could help you with?"

"I just need ta see 'im," I sighed. "I can wait."

"We're closing soon," The girl shrugged. "Sorry sweetheart."

"Me and 'im are old friends," I tried again, attempting to sound friendly.

"He should be back soon," The girl said. "My name's Darcy. Anything I can get you?"

"Guinness?" I grinned.

"Here ya go," Darcy exclaimed placing the beer in front of me. "What's your name, new girl?"

"Oh, excuse me," I flushed. "My name's Allison."

"You're the Allison that Van always talking about," Darcy smiled.

"Now dat jus' sounds foreboding," I snickered.

Darcy laughed long and loud at that, shaking her head and smiling at me. I talked to her and took in my surroundings for about another two hours before people began clearing out. I yawned and stretched as I hopped off my stool.

"Need help?" I offered.

"That would be nice," Darcy nodded.

I went off and gathered all the glasses strewn on the other tables and deposited them in the back room. We straightened up the floor and the rest of the bar. When we were nearly done cleaning the door opened again as the three loud voices filled the air. Darcy stopped what she was doing and announced, "You have a visitor, Van,"

"Oh, do I?" Van laughed. "And who pray tell would dat be."

"I think you guys lived in Ireland together," Darcy laughed. "She's got the same accent you do."

"Did ya say 'she'?" Van questioned.

"Aye," I answered for her coming out of the backroom with a dishrag. "Do ya need yer hearin' checked me boy?"

"Ally?" Van gasped. "I can' believe it."

Before I could respond Van had closed the distance between us hugged me close, pulling me off the ground. I squeaked in surprise before laughing loudly. When he placed me back on my feet, he smiled widely.

"Ye're 'ere fer good?" Van questioned.

"Aye," I nodded. "And I need a job."

"I don' know," Van teased. "Dee, ya think ya can take on a new recruit?"

"Of course," Darcy said. "I like her. Are you related to Murphy and Connor?"

"She's their sister," Van answered for me. "Their twin, actually."

"I didn't know they were triplets," Darcy mused.

"Aye, me poor mother, 'aving ta raise we three on 'er own," I laughed. "Where are me bro'ther's anyway? I heard 'em."

"Hang on," Van responded.

He walked back out from where he had came, revealing that there was a stairway in addition to the entrance of the bar. "Murph! Conn! Get down 'ere."

I smiled as I slid back on a stool, accepting another beer. I reached into my pockets grabbing a pack of cigarettes and my lighter. I pulled one out and lit it, taking a drag as I heard the sound of feet on the stairs before the three of them were behind me.

"Wot is it?" Connor asked.

"Who is dat?" Murphy questioned

I glanced at Darcy who was watching the scene with interest as I smiled and raised my eyebrow. Of course, Murph and Conn still managed to question things as a team with that same harmonious thing that they had mastered since we were toddlers. I drank a gulp of beer before spinning on my stool and leaning back against the counter. For the first few for moments, none of us said a word until Murphy grabbed me into a fierce embrace. I hugged him back melting into the hug.

"I've missed ye, Ally," Murphy whispered.

"I've missed ye too, Murph," I replied.

I pulled away only to be pulled into Connor's side. His chin rested on the top of my head as he hugged me tightly.

"I've missed ye, too, Conn," I sighed.

"Me too," Connor replied pulling away only to smack me upside the head causing me to see a flash of light for a second.

"Ow!" I squeaked shoving him backwards as I rubbed the injured spot. "Wot the 'ell is the matta wit ye?"

Connor raised his eyebrow as he grabbed my forearm and jerked me to him. Before I could even retaliate to being manhandled, Connor had raised my arm to both his and Murphy's gaze. When I moved to use my other hand to push him backwards, he grabbed the other arm and saw the same thing on the other wrist.

"Wot the 'ell is dat?" Murphy demanded, taking my arm and moving it closer. "Who did this?"

"I don' know," I confessed, avoiding both his and Connor's gaze. Knowing before I even said it that it wouldn't sit well with them.

"'Ow could ye not know?" Connor growled.

"When ye find out would ya let me know?" I scoffed. "Cause dat's something I've been asking meself for months."

"Months?" Murphy repeated.

"Aye," I nodded.

"Is dat why Ma was in a right state when she called four months ago?" Connor questioned. "Don' ye remember, Murph? Ma said dat she hadn' 'eard from Ally in a week."

Both Connor and Murphy turned to me, obviously looking for an explanation and I nearly smacked myself for not thinking about what their reaction would be to all this. I had come to Boston to escape what happened, which meant the last thing I wanted was to be grilled about something I couldn't even remember. Though they wouldn't leave it alone until I gave them the answers, they sought.

"Wot happened?" Murphy prompted.

"I don' remember," I mumbled. "I woke up in tha hospital."

"Wot did they say happened?" Connor asked.

"Van?" I called ignoring Connor's question and the glare that came from my dismissal.

"Aye?" Van responded turning from his conversation with Darcy.

"Ye got a place fer me ta crash?" I asked. "I'm knackered."

"O' course I do," Van shook his head. "Come on, Draoidín."

"I'm not short," I muttered, smiling as Van grabbed my suitcases for me as I picked up my backpack. He led me out of the bar and up the stairs. He unlocked the front door and led me around showing me the decent kitchen, two bathrooms, a sizable living room and three bedrooms. I smiled at the fact that after all this time Murph and Conn still slept in the same room. Old habits truly did die-hard.

"'Ere ye are, m'dear," Van said leading me into the last bedroom.

"Thank ye," I smiled.

"Hey, yer Ma let me stay in yer house fer nearly eighteen years," Van chided. "It's about time I returned tha favor and houses ye three."

I hugged him tightly smiling as his hands wrapped around my waist. Since I had found them nearly three hours ago, I felt safer than I had in years. Van placed my luggage down on the floor before he said goodnight. I slid my backpack off as I looked around the room. The walls were beige and the floor was wooden. It actually felt a lot like a dorm room, only instead of the puny little twin beds that we were made to sleep in, there was a queen-sized bed already made.

I collapsed boneless down on the mattress, sighing contently. I slid off my jeans before crawling under the covers, falling asleep within seconds.

**Van's Point of View**

When I was woken up suddenly in the middle of the night I was confused. I glanced over at the clock and groaned. It was only three in the morning. Before I could even think about what had woken me up, I heard Ally screaming. My heart lunged into my throat as I rushed from my bed and into the hallway. I nearly collided with Murphy who was two steps behind Connor. The three of us were staring at each other questioningly, each asking the other if Ally had nightmares like this before. I remember a few times where she had a nightmare and was upset about whatever she dreamed about, but those were nothing like this.

"Nein _(No)_!" Ally howled. "Helfen Sie mir! _(Help me!)_ No! Oh, god. Please, no, don' do it. Please! Na dean sin! _(Don't do that!) _Let me go."

For some reason completely unbeknownst to me was that out of all the languages the triplets had learned she leaned towards German and Gaelic more than the other languages, they had been forced to learn

"Ally," Murphy whispered.

Conn and Murph exchanged glances before moving quickly into Ally's room and turning on the light. I walked after them and leaned against the threshold as I watched Murphy and Connor attempted to wake her up and calm her down. She was fighting just as hard as ever, her panicked struggles kicking up a notch when Connor grabbed a hold of her wrists to keep her from hurting herself. When Connor had grabbed her, breathing became more panicked and shallow. If they didn't wake her up soon, she could have an asthma attack.

Murphy moved around the bed, sliding in behind her as he wrapped his arms around her waist, the two of them talking to her in various languages, though it was always the same thing. I wondered if it was Annabelle's intention when she made them learn so many languages that they would use it to calm one another down whenever something happened.

"Shhh," Connor whispered. "Listen ta Connor now. Ye're okay. We're 'ere, Ally. Everythin' is okay."

"Ye're big brothers are 'ere," Murphy soothed, smoothing his hand through her hair. "Tis jus' a dream. No one can hurt ya now."

"And no one ever will," Connor vowed. "Not when we're around."

They continued in that vein until Ally's cries tapered off and her breathing slowed. Just when I thought everything was okay again, her eyes flew open and she began struggling again. The remnants of the nightmare were obviously tainting her perception of reality.

"Allison!" Connor called. "Ye're all right. Everything's okay."

"Connor?" Ally questioned.

Her eyes closed once more before they opened again and looked at both Connor and Murphy. While Murphy, Conn, and Ally had already been reunited, they had quickly begun arguing. But, this wasn't the time for fightin'. Still I was shocked when Ally burst into tears twisting out of Murphy's grip and throwing herself into Connor's chest, sobbing inconsolably. Conn was the first to react, wrapping his arms around Ally's shaking form and holding her close. The three of us shared a look: whatever had happened in England it wasn't good. I tried to remember the last time I saw Ally cry and realized that it had to be when she had a panic or asthma attack. Other than that she normally never cried.

"I'm sorry," Ally whimpered, "so sorry."

"We'll talk about it later," Connor responded. "Ye think ye can get more sleep?"

"Nay," Ally shook her head.

"Jus try to," Murphy cajoled.

"No," Ally pleaded. "I just…I can't."

"It's t'ree in the morning," Connor stated.

"Then I'm a little jetlagged," Ally shrugged. "There is a five hour time difference."

I don't know if she missed the disapproving looks Connor and Murphy threw at her or if she chose to ignore it. Instead, she got up mumbling something about taking a shower. Once the bathroom door closed we al turned to one another and shrugged simultaneously.

**Ally's Point of View**

After a nice hot shower, I walked back out into the hallway noticing that the boys had fallen asleep. I opened up one of my suitcases sliding into a pair of jeans and a black tank top. I ran a brush through my drying locks as I padded down to where the bar was. I grinned feeling a sense of calm. The bar reminded me so much of the Anvil that I found myself looking for the cot that Uncle Sibeal always kept in the backroom, or the dart board that was so messed up from people using throwing knives more than darts.

I had learned how to throw knifes on that very dartboard. My brothers and uncles insisted on it after they had learned that I'd be going to a city University. As a graduation gift, I got a set of twelve silver knives. After what had happened I had been, carrying at least four of them on my person at all times. I wasn't about to let myself be in that situation again.

I wandered around the bar becoming accustomed to the pub. I saw that Van had a sawn off shotgun on the shelf right in the middle of the bar. There was also another gun under the register. The bar was fully stocked with anything and everything and I found myself grinning again. This was like the McCallister-American version of The Anvil.

"Ye're definitely Irish through and through, lass," Van shook his head. "I don' think I've seen someone smile this much just looking around tha place."

"Feels like tha Anvil," I shrugged. "Like 'ome."

"We all might as well 'ave grown up there," Van smirked. "So, wot do ye say? Wanna be a bar wench, again? Embrace tha American dream?"

"Ye're such a eejiit," I laughed.

"Now is dat anyway ta talk to yer boss?" Van teased. "Fer shame, Ally."

"I fergot 'ow delusional ye are," I responded.

Van didn't say anything else as he walked into the back room and came out with a pot of coffee. He poured us both a cup before setting the pot down. It was about two hours later before Murphy and Connor joined us down stairs.

"I can' believe ye two are fuckin' butchers," I rolled my eyes as Connor poured him and Murphy a cup of coffee as they both lit cigarettes.

"We take wot we can get," Connor responded. "Wot are ye gonna do?"

"Bartend," I smirked.

Connor and Murphy had to go to work soon but the four of us hung out until they had finished their coffee. We caught one another up while we were separated. Although, I left out sizable chunks about what happened. The worst part was, they knew I was leaving things out. Luckily neither Connor nor Murphy nor Van called me on it. I knew I couldn't avoid it forever but I was content with avoiding it now.

**One Month Later**

Once Van was sure I was in the swing of things, I was able to be left alone in the bar when he went out. Of course, Darcy was normally there and the two of us were becoming fast friends. Van had slipped out two hours ago to meet my brother's for drinks at McGinty's, a bar that Van, Connor, and Murphy frequented, leaving Darcy and I to run things and for the most part things were going as well as they normally did. I served drinks, people got wasted, and I was flirted with. If I flirted back, I normally got a good tip. It was a system that I had been growing increasingly more comfortable with.

"'Ow ya doin', Darce?" I asked as the petite blonde woman as she ran by me to serve a customer.

"Everything's good," Darcy replied coming to stand by me. "How are you so fast with everything here?"

"Once ye work in an Irish pub, ye learn to be quick," I answered. "Lest ya get an angry customer who wants 'is beer now."

"Sounds fun," Darcy laughed.

"Aye," I agreed. "Luckily, whenever I was workin' me cousins and brothers were neva far away durin me shifts. They made sure dat tha lot o' 'em minded their manners."

"Were you the only girl or what?" Darcy pondered.

"Nay," I shook my head. "I had two other female cousins. The rest, unfortunately are guys."

"Your family sounds really big," Darcy mused.

"Ye didn' come from a big family?" I asked.

"Nope, only me and my two brothers and my parents," Darcy sighed. "The rest of my family's on the other side of the country."

"Dat must be difficult fer ye," I mumbled.

Before Darcy could respond the front door was thrown open with an audible crack the music and easy going conversations stopped as all heads swiveled to look at the new person.

Tonight, as it would seem, was just not my night. For the past three weeks the Russian mob had been trying to kick businesses out of locations that they wanted so they could build high rises or whatever they wanted to do. Ivan Checkov was a bear of a man both burly and husky towering and outweighing me with ease. His baldhead glowed like a beacon in the low lighting as he leveled me with a look. Ivan had become a thorn in my side for the past few weeks constantly hassling Van, Darcy or I or any of the other bartenders. Despite the fact that Van had another year on his lease. I didn't like being hassled so frequently and I was quickly reaching my patience level. Religious and raised properly though I might be I still had the MacManus Irish temper and that won out the majority of the time.

"You vill be closing now!" Ivan Checkov barked.

Most customers looked at me waiting for me to nod my head before most skittered out the door leaving only our regular and very loyal customers behind. They all hung back knowing that if I needed them I'd say something. Checkov struck me as the kind of person who was use to people scrambling to obey orders. He was thrown for a loop the first time he encountered Van and I. If I wasn't scared by the MacManus temper, which was plenty terrifying, I wasn't about to be cowed by this man, regardless of how big he was.

"I'm not in the mood for your games," Ivan warned. "You vill shut down your business today."

"Yeh've been comin' 'ere every fuckin' day fer tha past week and I'll tell ye again," I snarled. "Piss off."

"I've been patient with you," Ivan hissed. "But, enough's enough. I will hit you."

I smiled widely at that. If he thought that violence would have me doing what he wanted then he hadn't learned all that much in the past week. My fingers curled around the sawn off shotgun that Van had stashed back here for just these occasions. My smile became mocking as my fingers wrapped easily around the hilt, the tip of my index finger resting on the trigger. Growing up in the countryside it had been common for everyone to know their way around a gun and a knife. Who knew those habits would be coming in handy now?

"Go hifreann leat!" I retorted. _To hell with you!_

While Ivan had no idea know what I said, he knew by my tone it was far from friendly. Before he could make a grab at me, I raised the shotgun and stuck it in his face, cocking it as I laughed, daring him to make a move. This scene had played out nearly every time he had come to shut us down; Ivan knew that I would pull the trigger. The last time he was here, I had actually shot the gun. I made the shot go into one of the walls but it proved that I wasn't bluffing. With one last malicious look, he stormed away. Even as the door swung shut behind the irate Russian I didn't relax, instead I handed the shotgun to Darcy, who still looked a little shell-shocked as I grabbed one of my knives.

When the door flew open nearly two minutes later, I reacted instantly as Darcy lifted the gun. The knife flipped end over end before it imbedded itself in the threshold of the entrance, where Van was walking through. He stopped staring at the two of us wide-eyed as he turned to look at the knife that was still shaking in the wood.

"Jaysus Christ," Van gaped. "Wot tha 'ell happened?'

"Tha fuckin Russian Mob is beginnin ta fuckin' piss me off," I responded hopping over the bar to rip my knife out of the wood, putting it back where the other three were. "Ivan Checkov came by again."

"Ye're supposed ta call me if dat fat fuck came by again," Van reproached. "Did ye shoot tha wall again?"

"Nay," I replied. "I only did dat one time ta show him dat I wasn' bluffin'."

"Dat was tha only way ye could demonstrate dat ye weren't bluffin'?" Van laughed.

"Ferst thing dat came ta mind," I smirked.

"O'course it was," Van rolled his eyes. "Somehow dat really doesn' surprise me, MacManus."

"Shut it, McCallister," I grinned.

"Yes, ma'am," Van teased. "Why don' you ladies shut it down fer the night? We've had enough action fer one day, don'tcha think?"

"I agree," Darcy nodded.

"Crash here, tonight, Darce," Van ordered "I don' want ya walkin around wit dat fuckin fatass gunning after tha lot o' us."

"Ye think Ivan would hurt 'er?" I questioned.

"Aye," Van stated. "And, don't ferget we're closed tomorrow."

"Ye're closin' the bar fer St. Paddy's day?" I asked. "Why would ye do that?"

"'Cause it's tradition that yer bro'thers and I go to McGinty's to celebrate," Van shrugged. "And Doc gets more business that way."

I smiled at his explanation; Collin 'Doc' McGinty was the owner and namesake of McGinty's pub. The old man was a figure of the neighborhood and always greeted people with a smile. Doc had white hair and blue eyes and had gotten the nickname of Doc from his days as a field medic in the army. Doc also had Tourette's syndrome and tended to mix up proverbs. But, he was one of our little rag tag family so we protected him against anyone who might make fun of him and mean what they say.

"Ye better be up fer Church," I said as I made my way to the stairs with Darcy at my heels.

"Ye MacManus's and Church," Van muttered. "My family ain't as religious as yers. So ye three get up and go, I'll sleep in."

"Lazy arse," I laughed.


	2. Recovery Begins

**Chapter Two: Recovery Begins**

"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven. Give us today our daily bread. Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. Save us from the time of trial and deliver us from evil. For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours now and forever. Amen," Father Macklepenny prayed.

The three of us had found ourselves at St. Francis' bright and early the following morning. We had chosen to sit in the back pew of the church since we had gotten there early enough to have our pick of where to sit. No one else sat with us except for another family of three. I could feel the young girls' eyes on the three of us as my brother's and I prayed.

We were all on the prayer kneeler; Murphy was in the middle with Connor and I flanking him on either side. Our fingers were dancing over our rosaries as the words of the father and the visiting priest echoed around us. I had just finished my last Hail Mary, when I noticed that the side that had been closest to Murph was suddenly cold. My eyes snapped open and I saw the two of them kneeling at the altar. I shook my head at the look of confusion on the visiting father's face and knew by the other priests expressions that Conn and Murph must do this a lot. Finally they rose, each leaning forward to kiss the crucifix.

"And I am reminded, on this holy day, of the sad story of Kitty Genovese," Monsignor began his sermon. "As you all may remember, a long time ago, almost thirty years ago, this poor soul cried out for help time and time again. But no person answered her calls. Though many saw, no one so much as called the police. They all watched as Kitty was stabbed to death in broad daylight. They watched a her assailant walked away."

I slid past the small family, whose little girl was still locked on the three of us and our movements. I met my brothers at the door pausing to listen to the rest of the Monsignor's words, "Now, we must all fear evil men. But there is another kind of evil which we must fear most, and that is the indifference of good men."

I locked eyes with Connor who nodded his toward the door. Together the three of us opened the heavy wooden doors and slid out into the glowing St. Patrick's Day morning.

"I do believe the monsignor's finally got the point," Connor stated as the three of us reached into our pockets grabbing our lighters and cigarettes, before lighting them simultaneously.

"Aye," Murphy agreed as he blew a plume of smoke from the side of his mouth.

"Come on," Connor prodded. "We oughta be gettin' back ta the bar."

"Ye two 'ave work?" I questioned.

"Aye," Connor responded as began to walk. We stopped by the bridge overlooking the water, smoking another cigarette before continuing to walk to the apartment. We went through the back way knowing that there was already a small crowd in the bar. Apparently Van just opened the bar for a few hours before shutting it down and heading over to McGinty's.

According to Darcy, Van always ran the bar by himself for St. Patrick's day. His Uncle Declan had done the same thing. I opened the front door walking through, quickly changing from a simple black skirt and into worn jeans. I kept on the white lace shirt I had worn to church. I walked back out into the hallway only to have both Connor and Murphy ruffle my hair. I reached out and smacked Murphy upside the head, as I fixed my hair.

"We'll be back in a few hours," Connor informed me shoving Murphy ahead of him before Murph could retaliate.

I shook my head as I heard them argue the rest of the way out of the door. Not knowing what to do, I moved into the living room and planted myself in front of the television. I mindlessly flipped through the channels realizing that there was both a _Death Wish_ movie as well as _Rambo_ playing. A small smile flitted across my face as I realized what kind of wrestling match would occur as a result of this. Murph would want to watch _Rambo_ while Conn would want to watch _Death Wish_. While they were both rolling around on the floor, I'd be able to watch whatever I wanted. It was a system that had worked our entire lives.

Somewhere along the way I fell asleep on the couch, only stirring when the front door slammed open. I jerked out of my slumped position and looked to see who had come in. I saw that it was only my brothers.

"Wot happened?" I demanded noticing that Connor was limping.

"Fuckin' lesbian cunt," Connor mumbled walking by me and into the kitchen.

I turned to look to Murphy for an explanation. He was hiding a smirk as our eyes met, "Connor had a run in wit' a hardcore feminist lesbo."

"Wot did she do ta ya?" I growled.

"Punched him in tha face," Murphy said. "And kicked 'im in tha nuts."

"Shut tha fuck up, Murphy," Connor barked

"Ye knock 'er out?" I asked.

"Hell yeah," Murphy smirked.

I smiled back getting off the couch and going into the kitchen ducking around a still angry Connor who was fixing himself a makeshift icepack I opened the refrigerator handing Connor a beer on his way back to the living room and tossing another to Murphy. I turned back around to look at the contents in the fridge and bared my teeth in annoyance. Living with a bunch of guys made it so that the only stable thing in our fridge was bacon and beer. The milk was empty and one of the pricks had put the empty carton back.

"Hey, eejiits," I snapped grabbing the milk out of the fridge. "Ya mind tellin' me when ye finish tha fuckin milk?"

"Hey, Ally, we finished tha milk this mornin'," Murphy smirked.

I glared at him as he stood up throwing his empty beer can into the pile that was beginning to form. He smiled back at me not at all intimidated by my glower so I did the next best thing. I chucked the freezing cold empty carton at his face once his attention had shifted. It smacked him right in the face causing Connor and I to bust out laughing.

"Ye fuckin' Draoidín _shrimp_," Murphy growled closing the distance between us to grab me into a headlock.

"I'm not short, ye fuckwit," I snapped.

"Ow!" Murphy complained. "No bitin'."

I smirked as I maneuvered myself as far away from him as I could before I buried my elbow into his stomach. Murphy's grip around my head loosened and I used the distraction to slip away. It was at that point that Murphy tackled me. The next moments passed with a blur of limbs, cursing and punching. Just when I was about to pin Murphy a strong pair of hands lifted the two of us in the air before knocking our heads together.

"Ow," I complained not being able to see straight.

"Fuckin' hell," Murphy mumbled.

"Ye two were gonna break something," Connor shook his head.

"Hypocrite," I mumbled. "I'll be righ' back. I'm gonna get more milk."

I edged by Connor making sure to smack him upside the head, then dancing out of his reach as I moved out of the door. I walked quickly to the corner market grabbing milk, bread, eggs, and pancake mix before heading back to the apartment. I was humming under my breath, knowing that I hadn't been gone more than twenty minutes. As I was about to open the door, I heard my brothers shouting, curiosity froze my movements and listened to what was going on.

"No, Ma!" Connor reproached, "Wot are ya doing wit' Da's gun?"

"Da's gun!" Murphy repeated anxiously.

"Wot tha hell are ye doin?" Connor demanded.

"Wot?" Murphy prompted. "Tha 'ell is goin on, Connor?"

"Pull tha trigger?" Connor gasped. "'Ave ya lost it, woman? Get a hold o' yerself and listen ta Connor now. I'm talkin some sense inta ye. Listen ta me."

"Jesus Christ! Ma!" Murphy yelped and I heard him running around the apartment.

"Ma, come on!" Connor yelled.

I heard a bang echo from the phone and then I heard the two thuds of bodies hitting the ground as my brothers began yelling for our mother. I walked into the room setting the bags down as I crouched down in front of the two. I could hear hysterical laughter from our mother and fought back a smile. So, this was the pranks she was so fond of? You think they'd be use to it but as Connor rested his head against the ground, I realized that they took her at her word each and every time.

"Lord 'ave mercy," Murphy huffed snatching the phone from the ground. "Dat was a good one, Ma."

"Dat is a fuckin evil woman," Connor complained

I smirked as our mother continued laughing. It was at that moment I realized Murphy was only wearing a towel, Connor was naked, and there was ice all over the living room. I rolled my eyes remember that it was something one had to get use to when living with a group of guys; they just walked around naked. They never really saw anything against it and I had stopped complaining about it years ago.

"Aw, Jesus. No Ma, no. Christ, Ma, no," She mocked, loudly.

"She's quite proud o' 'erself," Murphy noted, frowning in the phone's direction.

"O' course she is," Connor muttered.

"Okay, seriously now," Ma sighed. "I want ye both ta listen ta me now."

I shook my head, as I stood up, moving to go unload the groceries.

"So, ye jus' called ta torture us, did ye?" Murphy murmured.

"Ma, 'ow's Uncle Sibeal?" Connor asked.

There was a pause before Murphy snickered, "Ya tell 'im ta take it easy wit' dat Ma. 'E's gotta learn ta respect women tha way Connor does."

"Oh, Jaysus," Connor grumbled.

"I gave 'im his ferst lesson in sensitivity towards tha fairer sex jus' today," Murphy said.

I moved to the threshold of the door to watch this unfold, wanting to know how exactly Connor had gotten hit in the balls.

"Oh, Christ don' ya even fuckin start, ye bastard," Connor growled.

"'E got beat up by a girl, Ma," Murphy smiled.

"If dat was a girl I wanna see some fuckin papers!" Connor snapped, snatching the phone from Murphy's hands. "She had ta be pre-op fer Christ fuckin' sake!"

Ma's reprimand shot echoed through my head, clear as a bell, "Lord's fuckin' name."

I knew that was what Ma had said when my brothers dutifully recited, "Mother Mary, full o' grace."

"Wot?" Connor huffed. "I tried ta make friends and she gave me a shot ta tha nuts."

"Don'tcha worry, Ma," Murphy laughed. "I respected tha 'ell outta 'er fer ya."

Murphy's fist shot out, nudging Connor's chin. To which Connor instantly retaliated by smacking the side of Murph's head.

"Ow! Fuck!" Murphy yelped.

"Yeah, macho Murph," Connor teased.

Murphy switched the phone to speaker as Ma began to say, "Listen, I know how me boys take ta scrappin when they take ta drinkin."

I walked from the kitchen back to my place in front of them, sitting down. I laughed when Murphy rolled his eyes before flicking Connor's nose.

"Yes mother," Murphy stated.

"I mean it, now," Ma growled. "I carried the two of ya little bastards in me belly at the same time. Ya ungrateful pissants. Ye ruined my girlish figure in one fail swoop and then ye sucked me dry. My tits are hangin down to me ankles. I'm trippin over 'em fer Christ sakes. So, ye listen ta me. No fightin.

"Yes mother," Murphy sighed.

"Promise me, boys," Ma prodded.

"We promise," They both said.

"There's me boys," Ma praised. "Now, where's me daughter? Connor, ye neva told me where she went."

"I'm right 'ere, Ma," I exclaimed.

I grabbed the phone out of my brother's hands and walked into the kitchen, switching it off speaker.

"'Ow long 'ave ye been there, dearie?" Ma asked.

"'Round tha same time ye apparently offed yerself," I scoffed.

"Ya 'eard all tha'?" Ma smirked.

"Aye," I laughed. "Is those tha kind o' pranks ye were talkin' about."

"Eh, they vary," Ma replied. "Gotta keep those two on their toes. But, 'ow are ya? Murph told me ye were 'avin' nightmares again?"

"They started happenin less frequently," I sighed.

"Ye know ye can talk to yer bro'thers right?" Ma prodded.

"Yes, Ma," I said.

"Wot ever happened ta land ye in tha hospital must've been serious lass," Ma noted. "Ye wouldn' 'ave gone ta America if it wasn'."

I bit my lip cursing my mother's ability to read me like an open book.

"Now, I'll tell ye tha same thing I told yer bro'thers, no scrappin tonight, ye hear me?"

"Yes, Ma," I responded. "I promise. Tell everyone I said hello."

"Will do, baby," Ma said.

"Love ye," I said, unsurprised to hear the dial tone right after.

I knew my mother loved us; she just didn't like to say it. Whenever she had something bad had happened or she was worried. For my mother's naturally abrasive deposition, she had a big heart. I hung the phone back up as I threw the bread on top of the fridge. I looked out to find Connor wearing a towel, picking up all the ice. The shower was on which explained where Murphy had gone.

I slumped into one of the kitchen's chairs staring mindlessly at the white wall. In twenty-five years, there were no secrets or lies between the three of us. How could I tell them what had happened if I didn't even really know myself. I still had the scars both physical and emotional and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Ye alright there, lass?" Connor asked coming into the kitchen to throw the ice into the sink. "Wot did Ma say ta ya?"

"'M okay," I sighed.

"Yeah, Ally, ya sound terrific," Connor rolled his eyes.

I winced at Connor's disapproving look, knowing that they felt the same way I did about keeping secrets from one another. It was just something we had never thought to do. Why bother lying or hiding something when the very people you're keeping information from, know what it is you're doing. But, what was I supposed to say? I didn't know who did it and it would cause them unnecessary guilt. I didn't want them blaming themselves for not being there to protect me.

"I'm gonna head ta McGinty's see if Doc needs help," I said a few minutes later.

There was a painful beat that passed as Connor looked at me until he nodded. I got up grabbing my coat and purse before walking out of the door. I walked through the bustling streets of Southie, not slowing my pace as I entered McGinty's.

"Lass!" Doc greeted. "Happy St. Patrick's day."

"Hello, Doc," I grinned. "Ye need help?"

"If y-y-you're offerin," Doc nodded. "You know, th-th-the guy's enjoy it when y-y-you bartend. Fuck! Ass!"

I had only know Doc a few months but I knew that the only reason why he yelled fuck and ass was to get the stuttering to stop, if only for a few moments. Which was the reason why many of the regular customers called him Fuckass. I walked behind the counter, peeling off my jacket and storing both the jacket and purse under the bar.

There weren't many people when I first got there but it soon filled to the rafters with Irish music playing in the background and nosy conversations making the bar loud and happy. There was about an hour difference between when I first showed up and when my brothers and Van came. Darcy followed behind them soon after and together her, Doc, and I made sure that the alcohol was flowing. Doc and I were behind the bar while Darcy was wandering around the bar passing people drinks to those who sat in the booths.

"Hey, Fuckass, get me a beer!" A boisterous voice echoed easily above the music and over conversations. The man didn't stop as he moved towards the crowd at the counter, pausing to take a shot from Darcy's tray and kiss her on the cheek.

The other people turned around only to smile at the newcomer who was standing close to the counter. David Della Rocco was a long time friend of my brothers and worked with the Boston Italian Mafia as a package boy. He apparently had been at the same level since he had first started back in Upper Sixths. Rocco, as everyone called him had curly brown hair and a thick beard, he was also one of the first people my brother's had met when they first arrived in Southie. Connor got up while Murphy lifted his arm pulling Rocco into a headlock. Connor soon joined throwing his own arm around Rocco's head as other guys clapped him on the back.

With all the people that had been in McGinty's it had heated up a really fast. It had begun to cool down as the crowd cleared out but I needed some clean air. I stepped out into the alleyway, smiling as I lit my own cigarette. For someone who wanted air, I also needed a smoke. I think it was because of my asthma that my body only let five people smoke around me before my longs began constricting. The asthma had improved with age, now I only needed my inhaler occasionally or when I was about to have a panic attack other than that I was physically healthy.

I was just about finished with my cigarette when I heard the door to McGinty's get thrown open with a crack. I raised my eyebrow in the direction the noise came from, throwing my cigarette to the ground as I slid into the bar. I saw the familiar figure of Ivan Checkov and narrowed my eyes. I pulled out one of my knives, just in case, knowing that one was all I needed. They were sharp enough to do a fair amount of damage with minimal effort. This time Ivan wasn't alone, he had brought two of his friends. I was relieved that Darcy had gone home with the last wave of people. She didn't know how to fight in this.

"What's this then?" One guy asked.

"I am Ivan Checkov," Ivan growled lowly, "and you will be closing now."

"Checkov?" Murphy grinned, throwing his arm around Rocco, "Well this here's McCoy. We find a Spock and we got us an away team."

"I am in no mood for discussion," Ivan barked ignoring the sudden swell of laughter and pointed to Doc, "You, you stay the rest of you go now."

"Why don't you make like a tree and get the fuck out of here?" Doc snapped.

I grinned as everyone groaned shaking their head at the old man before they turned back to the Russians.

"Ye know he's got till tha end weeks end right?" Connor asked. "Ye don' 'ave ta be hard asses, do ye?"

"Yeah, it's St. Patty's Day, everyone's Irish tonight," Murphy cajoled. "Why don' ye jus pull up a stool and 'ave a drink wit' us?"

Ivan growled lowly before knocking the beer glasses out of my brother's hands yelling, "This is no game! If you don't go we will make you go."

"If ye wanna fight ye can see ye're outnumbered," Connor remarked. "We're trying ta be civil so I suggest ye take our offer."

"I make the offers," Ivan retorted.

"Do ye now?" I laughed walking around the corner to make my presence known to the men assembled. I walked until I was in between the Russians and the rest of the guys, that coincidentally being between Connor and Murphy. "Last I checked ye ran outta me bar as fast as yer stubby lil legs could carry ya."

The bewildered expressions on my brothers, Van, and Rocco's faces echoed the rest of the men assembled with the exception of the Russians in front of me, who only seemed highly irritated.

"Allison MacManus," Ivan sneered.

"'Ello, Ivan," I smirked. "Are ye lost? I thought I told ye ta stay away from 'ere."

"And you're under the impression that I listen to women," Ivan growled. "The only thing women are good for are cooking and fucking."

"Not dat ye'd know anythin bout dat," I smirked. "Unless o'course ye fancy yer hand as a woman."

At that Connor and Murphy's hands came to rest on either shoulder as Rocco moved in front of me changing the Russians attention from me to him.

"Hey Boris," Rocco snickered. "What if I told you that your pinko commy mother sucked so much dick that…"

Rocco didn't get the finish the rest of his sentence as Ivan's large ham-like hand slammed into his face sending him sprawling into the counter. Connor and Murphy then pulled me behind them as they began to yell at Ivan in Russian, saying how they couldn't let that go. Connor and Murphy then looked at one another before they each took a shot, curling the now empty shot glass in their palms.

The next several moments were a blur as Conn and Murph set things off by knocking Ivan's legs out from under him, which sent the rest of the guys to attack the remaining two Russian Mafia soldiers. At one point one of the soldiers knocked Murphy into one of the bench seats. Two people moved to help him before Connor yanked them back, shouting that Murph could take care of himself. Nearly a moment later, Murphy pulled out two wine bottles and cracked them against the Russian's head sending him into unconsciousness instantly.

After the chaos of the past few minutes, it was suddenly painfully quiet and still. Everyone stood around making sure one another was okay before they turned to look at the fallen soldiers in obvious distaste. I started when a hand landed on my shoulder, I knew who it was when I saw the Veritas written on the index finger of his left hand as he tugged the knife from my grip.

"Ye, Murph, and I need ta 'ave a conversation," Connor said, his electric blue eyes piercing into my own. "I got a few questions fer ye, lass."

"Connor," I protested.

"Yeh've done enough hidin things," Connor reproached. "But, now's not tha time. Go home, Ally."

"Why?" I asked. "Wot are ye gonna do ta 'em?"

"Dat is none of ye concern," Connor snapped.

Before I could say another word in order to stay and see exactly what they were planning on doing, my coat and bag was shoved into my open arms. I frowned at Doc who was looking out at the scene, concern written over his features. I shook my head as I pulled on my coat and shouldered my bag. As I made my way to the door, Van fell into step beside me.

"Ye didn' tell 'em about how tha Russians are botherin' us," I stated.

"Nay," Van said. "I was hopin things would die down. So, I wouldn't 'ave ta be worryin 'em."

"Dat fuckin backfired," I scoffed. "Shoulda known they were botherin Doc. Or botherin 'im worse than us."

"Everyone will protect 'im and tha bar," Van soothed. "Don' ye even fuckin worry bout dat."

"I know," I replied.

"Although, I want ta know why tha 'ell ye're carrying those knives," Van said looking down at me.

"Better ta be safe," I shrugged. "I didn' use 'em."

"Ye were thinkin bout it," Van retorted.

"So?" I rolled my eyes. "I'm tired of Ivan botherin us."

The rest of the way to the apartment was quiet as we moved quickly through the streets. It was surprisingly empty for St. Patty's day; I guess people were tucked away at home or in the pubs. We walked up the back staircase and into the apartment as Van unlocked the door. Van walked into the kitchen while I went into my room to change into more comfortable clothing. I slid into a pair of sweatpants and an old wife beater of Murphy's before walking back out into the living room. It was another two hours before Connor and Murphy came back. I looked over them making sure that they weren't hurt in the fight. As expected there wasn't a scratch on them except for some busted knuckles.

I didn't get the chance to get up from the couch as Murphy sat next to me and Connor took the recliner I noticed with some irritation that Van had suddenly disappeared leaving the three of us alone.

"Ya knew them?" Murphy asked.

"Aye," I answered. "They had been givin us some trouble."

"Why didn' ye tell us?" Connor asked.

"I had a handle on it," I shrugged. "Ivan only came 'ere alone. 'E thought 'e could handle a few girls."

"Why'd ye 'ave yer knives?" Murphy questioned.

"I always 'ave 'em," I replied. "I neva know when I'm gonna need 'em."

"Ally," Connor sighed and I knew by his tone of voice that his next question wasn't going to be remotely pleasant.

"Aye?" I mumbled.

"Why were ye in the hospital?" Connor asked.

"Conn, it was just a little asthma attack," I tried, smile in place but I knew by Connor's warning glare that the lie wasn't even making it out of the gate.

"If it were an asthma attack, ye would 'ave jus' told us dat," Connor noted. "So, why don' ye try tellin tha truth this time. Why were ye in tha hospital?"

Even though I had braced myself for it, dreaded the moment the question would eventually be broached again it still hit me like a punch to the stomach. The question seemed to suck all the air out of the room. The ones that make your heart jolt and instantly say, 'This isn't gonna be good.'

I had a hard time meeting Murphy and Connor's expectant looks. Having my own eyes staring back at me, waiting for me to tell them what was going on. What I should've told them when it happened. Twenty five years with no lies or secrets and I break it over something like this. I was a horrible person.

"I was raped four months ago," I said, avoiding their gaze and staring at the floor. "I don' remember anythin. I woke up a week later in tha hospital. Whoever it was had stabbed me, left me fer dead. The doctors say I fought back, which was 'ow I got tha scars on me wrists. He used zip ties ta bind me hands."

The silence was almost painful but I refused to look up and I didn't stop my story. I felt better knowing that it wasn't a secret anymore.

"I didn' 'ave me knives on me tha night," I explained. "When I woke up I swore I'd neva ferget 'em again. I 'ave nightmares about it but I can' remember nothin. I wanted ta stay but I was scared and I felt like 'e'd come fer me. Finish tha job."

"Jaysus," Murphy finally hissed.

I looked down and, surprised to see a tear fall darkening my light gray sweatpants. I brought up my hand up to my face still surprised when it came back wet. I felt the couch shift and figured that Murph was moving to hug me but I wasn't in the mood to be consoled and stood up moving quickly across the room to stand by the bay window overlooking the street, as I wrapped my arm around my stomach.

"Ally," Connor whispered.

"It's alright," I said. "Wot can I do? I don' remember nothin'."

"Dat migh' not be such a bad thing, Ally," Murphy stated.

"I'm not so sure," I huffed. "I still 'ave nightmares. I don' remember nothin but I can see meself walkin home and suddenly there's a hand ova me mouth and a knife to me neck."

I ran a hand over my neck, feeling the scar that I had as a result of that knife, shivering as I saw, in my mind's eye, it happening all over again. The feeling of not knowing who did this was overwhelming. The feeling of blindness, it could be anyone or everyone, someone I knew and I would never know what they did to me. It was even worse then knowing who did it. Which was worse being haunted by the face of the person who had raped you and left you for dead or having a blurry person that you couldn't really see? The only thing I knew was that it felt like I knew the person. Like I knew them or had seen them before.

With my thoughts distracting me I failed to notice that there was no longer a separation between my brothers and I. I looked down to see the Veritas tattoo on the index finger of Connor's left hand resting on one shoulder while the Aequitas tattoo on Murphy's index finger of his right hand rested on the opposite shoulder. My grip on my composure was slowly slipped through my fingers.

Something within me cracked as my breath hitched. That was the only warning I had before the tears came fast and furious. For months there had been a disconnect from the rape. I had woken up in that hospital and read the chart. I didn't feel the lingering effects. I saw the scars, could imagine how much those wounds hurt but when I woke up there was no pain, only minimal discomfort. Nothing about this felt right. I didn't feel like myself anymore. I just wanted all this to stop: worrying about who had raped me, wishing I knew who it was. The familiarity I felt whenever I thought about it was killing me. I felt dirty, impure, and corrupted and no matter how much I bathed and prayed for absolution that feeling would not go away.

"Ally," Murphy whispered.

His arms wrapped around me pulling me into his chest. I could feel Connor's hand in between my shoulder blades, rubbing in small circular motions. I don't know how long we stood like that; all I knew was this moment was the exact reason why I had come back. When the three of us were together there was this serenity involved. The feeling that nothing could happen as long as they were together. It wasn't to say that I was some defenseless little girl but it was nice to know that someone had your back, no matter the circumstances.

"Let's get ta bed," Murphy suggested.

"Ye both are alright?" I asked as we pulled away from one another. "Ye didn' get hurt in tha fight?"

"Nay," Connor shook his head. "Those Russians didn' know wot hit 'em."

"Good," I smirked.

Finally the three of us began to shut off the lights in the living room, made sure the front and back doors were locked before we made our way to our separate rooms I quickly fell asleep, knowing that I know longer had anything to hide.


	3. In Fate's Hands

_**Author's Note: Just as a general disclaimer or reiteration, the only languages I know fluently are German and English. So, I'm 95% sure that the German in the following story is correct, it's the Italian, French, and Spanish that I'm wary of. If I've made horrible mistakes, please tell me. I know translating sites don't always get it right. Also, italics are translations or dreams. Anyway, happy reading! I hope people are enjoying it as much as I am writing it.**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Three: In Fate's Hands**

The next day, I woke up bright and early, surprising myself. Normally after the amount of drinking I did on St. Patty's day I would be sleeping into the afternoon. It was odd that I felt well rested but shrugged it off, changing into jeans and a simple black shirt. I pulled on my boots, slid two knives into the holster on each boot before I walked out into the living room. I heard the snores from the boys, telling me that they were still asleep.

I put on my coat before I walked out of the apartment. The weather was nice and the sun was shining as my feet led me straight towards St. Francis'. I walked through the door of the cathedral and slid into the back pew. The church was nearly deserted at eight in the morning as I walked through the doors and sat down on one of the back pews. I pulled my rosary beads from around my neck, where I normally wore them, wrapping them around my hands as I sank to my knees.

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

I was more mouthing than saying the words as I prayed for guidance and forgiveness. I needed forgiveness for my actions. I should've done something to prevent my own rape and what if by not remembering the person who did it was free to roam the streets. What if he did it to someone else? I had also lied to my family: my mother and brothers. I put our relationship at risk just because I didn't want to tell someone else. The church was so empty that I hadn't realized that anyone was here until Father McKinney was walking towards me purposefully.

"Okay, you outlasted me," Father McKinney smiled. "You won't come in. I'll come to you."

"Thank ye, father," I whispered. "But, I'm not here fer confession."

"You've been on your knees for forty five minutes," Father McKinney disagreed. "I know a sin when I see one."

I got off my knees as I sank into the pew beside the father, "I feel terrible."

"You look terrible," Father McKinney said. "Tell me about it."

"I was raped four months ago," I began. "I don' remember nothin'. I jus know dat it happened. I should remember it but I don' and I feel guilty. Like I should be doin somethin. Instead, I came ta tha States."

"Maybe your lack of remembering is a blessing," Father McKinney said. "The Lord does work in mysterious ways."

"I don' know wot is worse: rememberin or not rememberin," I sighed. "Either way it happened and there's nothin I can do bout it."

"Then maybe you should stop torturing yourself," Father McKinney suggested. "If you were meant to remember you would. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry that this happened to you."

"Thank ye, Father," I whispered.

"You'll be okay, my child," Father McKinney promised, laying a hand on my shoulder before he moved back to the confessionals.

I decided that two hours was enough for one day and began to wrap things off by saying the family prayer. It had been passed down from my father's side of the family, and while I hadn't met the man; it was our Uncle Sibeal had who taught us the pray. He, as our father's brother made sure that if Da couldn't be there that this would be the one thing that stayed. Ma made sure we said it before we left Church every single time.

"And shepherds we shall be, for thee my Lord for thee, power hath descended forth from thy hand that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command. And we shall flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."

I crossed myself before I stood back up and walked out of the door. I slid my rosary back around my neck as I walked back towards the apartment. It was ten or so in the morning, so the guys should be up by now. Normally the first person up would grab breakfast but I had just bought groceries so there was food in the apartment for once.

As I turned down the alley that led to the back entrance of the pub, the sight that met me was an unexpected one. Normally there was a dumpster and a few other bags of trash. This time in addition to all of the garbage was two bodies and porcelain every where. What the hell? I slowly approached the two men, my teeth gnawing a hole in my lip as I realized that it was Ivan and one of his other enforcers. Ivan had a hole cut out of the back of his pants, with a bandage wrapped haphazardly around his ass. The other one had a bloody bandage wrapped around his head. That was the man that Murphy had gotten with the two wine bottles.

The Russians were dead, that much was obvious. What wasn't obvious was how the hell this happened. It was then I saw the lid from the top of a toilet. I shook my head as I slid into the back door of the bar that had been left open. I walked upstairs, noticing that there was water soaking the carpet and the apartment door had been kicked in. I stepped into the living room seeing that there was a thin layer of water over the floor. I rushed into the room and into the bathroom where the water was coming from.

I pursed my lips at the scene in front of me. Our toilet was missing and by missing, I mean that it had been ripped from the floor. I quickly turned off the water and unplugged all the appliances before someone got electrocuted. Someone…someone. Where were the guys? My heart dropped into my stomach as I went into every room, stopping once again at the bathroom. If was nervous before, I was in a panic when I noticed a small puddle of blood where the toilet use to be. Whatever I had missed wasn't good judging by the two dead mafia members alone.

Running out of options and knowing that I couldn't wait for them to come back, I walked back out the door making sure both the front and back entrances to the bar were locked as I walked down to the first place I could think of. The meat packing plant hadn't seen Conn or Murph, which was weird enough. They normally never missed work so the fact that they weren't there worried me even more. The next place I looked was McGinty's knowing that the guys sometimes got a pint on their breaks. As I was talking to Doc an FBI agent came into the bar. His name was Agent Smecker and he said that he thought the scene in the alley was self defense, though he'd still need to talk to those involved. Agent Smecker handed Doc his card before quietly bidding us goodbye.

Doc and I glanced at one another unsure of how the hell the FBI had gotten involved or how the Agent knew to come here. Doc sighed before grabbing two shot glasses and pouring out some vodka. He shoved one over to me and we both took it placing the glasses upside down on the counter when they were empty. Just when I thought it was about time to go around and search from them elsewhere the phones rang.

"T-t-t-they're at the h-h-hospital," Doc told me after he hung up the phone.

"Let's go," I said. "Wot hospital? Are they okay?"

"E-e-easy lass," Doc soothed. "I'm sure your brothers are fine."

I nodded even though anxiousness thrummed through me, unable to forget the blood on the ground, the kicked in door, and the dead bodies. None of that was okay. I followed after Doc who led the way to the hospital. It was a Catholic hospital, judging by the crucifixes and the nun's in the waiting room. Further down the hallway I saw Murphy on a hospital bed next to a small boy. Connor was standing in front of the boy playing a game.

Doc walked through the door first, placing a finger in the holy water and crossing himself, after I followed suit we approached them.

"It's Doc," Murphy whispered tapping Connor on the shoulder. "Thanks for comin, Doc."

"Jesus Christ," Doc hissed. "What the fuck happened? Are…are you b-b-boys all right?"

"We're alive," Connor sighed resting a palm on Murph's shoulder after he grabbed a bag that was sitting on the chair next to the bed. I noticed that Connor placing his hand on his shoulder wasn't a sign of affection instead it was an act of stabilization. Connor was using Murphy to remain standing.

"An FBI agent came by the bar and he left me his c-c-ca. He left me his c-c. Oh, he fuckin gave me this. Fuck! Ass!"

I winced at the loud tone, knowing that as much of the three of us were use to it, the nuns would be horrified. The gasps were to be expected as all three shot Doc disapproving looks.

"What are you gonna do?" he asked.

"We oughta turn ourselves in, tell 'im it was self-defense," Connor replied, taking hold of the card. Murphy then grabbed a hold of the card, reading it quickly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Doc nodded. "That's what he said."

"How tha fuck's he know dat?" Murphy demanded. "We 'aven't spoken ta anyone."

"D-D-Don't know," Doc said. "He d-d-didn't say."

"All right," Murphy shook his head. "Listen, Doc, we need ye ta do us a favor."

"A-A-Anything," Doc said.

"Just hold on ta this fer us," Connor asked pushing the shopping bag into Doc's hands. "We're gonna come back fer it when we get out."

"Right," Doc nodded.

As Doc walked away he shouted, "Fuck! Ass!" I fought back a snicker as all three of the nuns crossed themselves before looking back towards the ground.

Connor used the bed to move forward stopping to talk to the boy, "None o' dat cursing was directed at ye. He's…He's a bit…"

"Wot tha 'ell happened?" I hissed cornering Murph who had moved a few feet away from the bed where Connor was still talking to the boy.

"Die Russen," Murphy explained, quickly changing the language so the only other person who would overhear and understand what was going on would be Connor. "Sie fanden uns heute morgen und griffen uns an." _(The Russians. They found us this morning and attacked us.)_

"Warum sind Connor Schmerzen?" I growled. _(Why's Connor hurt?)_

"Er wurde zu einem toliet mit Handschellen gefesselt," Murphy explained. "Er zerriss das toliet heraus vom Boden und warf es unten auf den Russen, bevor er acht Geschichten zu Boden" _(He was handcuffed to the toilet, pulled it from the ground then threw it at the Russians and jumped eight stories to the ground.)_

The only thing I could do was blink. After all, when the hell does that happen? Connor had ripped a toilet out of the ground walked with it to the roof before throwing it off and then jumping after it. All to protect Murphy. While Murph had neglected to mention that detail, I knew that was what had to have happened. Because Conn wouldn't do something that reckless unless one of us were threatened.

"And where tha 'ell were ye this mornin?" Murphy snapped, glowering at me. "We thought dat they had gotten ta ye already."

"I went ta Church," I responded. "If I had known dat this would happened I wouldn't 'ave left. Where's Van?"

"He went ta visit Declan," Murphy shrugged.

"Ready ta go?" Connor asked.

He was leaning heavily against the side of the bed and the wall, smiling at Murph and I. Before Murphy could answer Connor's question I rounded on him.

"Are ye outta yer fuckin' mind?" I growled, lowering my voice even more. "Ya jumped off a fuckin building?"

"I'm fine, Ally," Connor soothed.

"Aye?" I rolled my eyes. "Then why are ye leaning against the bed?"

"I was jus' doin wot I thought was right," Connor growled. "Murphy was in dat alley wit a goddamn gun ta his head. I would do tha same thing fer ye."

"I'm sorry, Conn," I whispered. "I was jus worried about tha two o' ya."

"I know, lass," Connor smiled squeezing my shoulder. "We're alright."

"Now are ye gonna help us get to the hospital?" Murphy asked, his voice reproachful. "Or are ye just gonna bitch at us?"

"'O course I'll help," I huffed.

Together Murphy and I stood side by side with a five inch gap between us as Connor slung his arms over our shoulders together we walked over to the closest precinct. Along the way they caught me up on what I had missed. And how scared they were when I wasn't anywhere in sight.

Of course, we chose the one precinct with the most stairs. It took us nearly ten minutes to get all the way up them, as Connor's breathing grew labored. I glanced down at the arm he had looped over my shoulder. There was gauze wrapped half way up Connor's arm. It looked just like the gauze that had been wrapped around my wrists. The shudder rocked through me, causing the three of us to jerk to a stop.

"Ya all right?" Connor asked. "I'm not too heavy fer ye, am I?"

"I'm fine," I replied. Proud for keeping my voice steady.

I was saved from any further questions as the conversation in the main room began to get louder. We moved forward slowly and listened to the conversation. Oddly enough they were talking about Murph and Conn.

"These guys are miles away by now, but if you wanna beat your head against a wall, then here's what you're looking for: they're scared, like two little bunny rabbits. Anything in a uniform or flashing blue lights is gonna spook 'em, okay?" Another voice scoffed. "So the only thing we can do is put a potato on a string and drag it through South Boston, 'Thanks for coming out!'"

With the door shut behind us we moved around the corner to stand awkwardly in the entrance of the police precinct. The desk were faced away from us but the Agent noticed us immediately. We must've been quite the sight. I was the only one dressed. My brothers were wearing steel toed boots, boxers, and bathrobes.

"Ye'd probably 'ave better luck wit a beer," Murphy suggested.

"Aye," Connor agreed tiredly "Ya would."

"Aw, fuck," A detective groaned.

"Hey, Greenly," Smecker smirked. "Onion bagel, cream cheese."

The other detective that had been talking was obviously Greenly. He gotten up to do what the Agent had ordered. He walked by us, his eyes resting a beat longer on mine as he raised his eyebrows and smirked. I smirked back at him prompting Murphy to cuff me upside the head as we were led towards one of the interrogation rooms. Connor shrugged Murph and I off, commandeering the seat closest to the wall. Murphy sat down next to him and I took the seat closest to the windows. The Agent moved around the room, closing the blinds before dropping himself into the chair across from the three of us.

"This conversation is going to be recorded," Smecker informed us. "Just answer to the best of your knowledge."

"Excuse me, sir," Murphy stated leaning forward to block the recorder. "Please."

Smecker seemed surprised but placed his hand back on the able without turning on the recorder. Murphy looked at me and then turned to Connor. Switching to Gaelic he said, "What do we tell him about the guns and money?"

"We jus got up and left," Connor shrugged. "Bum musta rolled 'em before tha police got there."

I watched as Smecker eyed them warily. Like one would look at something they found utterly fascinating. I knew that he couldn't know Gaelic but he seemed to look like he knew what they were discussing. He looked at me for a moment to before focusing back on my brothers as they turned to face him.

"Okay," Murphy announced in English. "We're ready."

"You boys are not under oath here," Smecker said. "Just answer the questions. I'm assuming you knew these guys from before, huh?

"We met them last night," Connor answered, talking through a bite of a glazed donut. The box was sitting in front of me but I didn't take one. I drank a sip of coffee as Smecker offered the three of us cigarettes and a lighter.

"They had some pretty interesting bandages," Smecker noted. "Know anything about that?"

I sat quietly as I watched Connor and Murphy explain what happened last night and this morning. They even told Smecker about how they lit Ivan's ass on fire. It was only for a few moments but it explained his bandage. The other one had a run in with two wine bottles. Smecker didn't say a word as they explained things. They effortlessly managed to tell him what happened but in a way that wouldn't get them in trouble. He stopped the tape before he leaned forward.

"So, how is it that you guys are fluent in Russian?" Smecker asked.

"We paid attention in school," Connor said.

"You speak any other languages?" Smecker questioned.

"Aye," Murphy grinned. "Our mother insisted on it."

"French?" Smecker suggested.

Murphy shared a look with Connor and I before asking us, "Comment le pensez-vous avez-vous figuré tout ceci dehors sans nous parler?"_(__ How do you think he figured all this out without talking to us?)_

"Oh, that's beautiful," Smecker praised.

"Non ho idea," Connor sighed. "Forse qualcuno ha veduto e parlato." _(__I have no idea. Maybe somebody saw and talked.)_

"What's that?" Smecker wondered.

"That's Italian," Connor chuckled

"Nicht in unser Gegen, mann. Sie sind alle ein Hundert percent Irische," Murphy shook his head. "Niemand spricht mit Bullen. Baste." _(__Not in our neighborhood, man. A hundred percent Irish. No one talks to cops. Period.)_

"Jawohl!" Smecker smiled, although he clearly didn't understand what they were talking about. (_Yes.)_

"Entonces conjeturo que él es muy, muy bueno," Connor smirked. (Then I guess he's just really, really good.)

Connor and Murphy laughed as Smecker smiled at us. The smile faded a little as he looked at me.

"You were in the bar I went to earlier," Smecker said.

"Aye," I nodded.

"Who are you?" Smecker asked.

"I'm their twin sister, Allison," I introduced. "Nice to meet you, Agent Smecker."

"You three are triplets?" Smecker eyed us. "So, you understood everything they were saying?"

"Aye," I smiled.

"Very interesting," Smecker mused. "You work at the meat packing plant?"

"Nay," I shook my head. "I'm a bartender."

"What are you guys doing working at jobs like this?" Smecker laughed.

A regular police officer knocked on the interrogation room door before sliding into the room.

"Ah, Agent Smecker, we have a problem." The police officer winced.

"What?" Smecker growled.

"The press is everywhere outside," The police officer said. "They're going nuts for these guys. What do you want to do?"

"You're not being charged," Smecker told us, shrugging. "It's up to you. Do you want to talk to them?"

"Absolutely not," Connor answered immediately.

"No pictures either," Murphy said.

"Well, we could try the bag over the head thing," Smecker suggested. "Walk you right out the front."

"Our mother could see through bags," Connor smirked.

"Aye, she can," Murph sighed. "Anyway we can stay here?"

"Sure," the police officer smiled. "We have an empty holding cell. I mean, they can. Can they stay?'

"Well, we'll have to check with your mother, but it's okay with me if your friends sleep over."

Murphy, Connor, and I laughed as the police officer flushed. Smecker rose to his feet, folding his suit jacket over his arm, "Time to feed the dogs."

We all laughed as the door shut behind us. I stood to my feet and leaned against the window. I completely forgot that we had all promised our mother that we wouldn't fight. And not only had we done just that but Conn and Murphy had killed two fucking Russian Mob members. That was the only reason why we were going to be stuck in the police precinct until the press left.

"Jaysus Fuckin Christ," I mumbled as we were escorted down to the holding cells.

"Lords fuckin name," Murphy whispered. His voice high pitched and angry: the perfect mimic of Ma's go to reprimand.

"You guys up for poker?" One of the police officers asked. "I'm Caffrey and this is Mitchell."

Both officers were very similar in build. They were tall and they both had dark brown hair. Caffrey's eyes were blue while Mitchell's were hazel. They were obviously new to the force and a little naïve. But that naiveté came from not really seeing how bad things could get. I had heard about exactly how bad things could get in Southie's underworld. It wasn't a place you wanted to be.

"Sure," Connor answered for all of us.

Twenty minutes later it was the three of us on one bed with Con, Murph, and I on the other. Just as the game was getting good a loud voice echoed around the cells.

"Hey Rocco!" someone who was actually being held said.

Two seconds later Rocco walked into our cell with a pile of clothes. He tossed them on the bed as Connor and Murphy moved to hug him.

"Wait," Rocco said.

"Wot 'ave ye got there?" Connor asked as Rocco leaned forward slightly before pulling off two rosaries.

"Good man," Murphy grinned.

I watched as Connor and Murphy took the rosaries out of Rocco's hands knowing without really looking which one was theirs.

"Ally!" Rocco called.

I guess I had blended into the background because Rocco seemed surprised to see me. Before I could greet him I had been pulled off the ground and into a bear hug.

"Hiya Roc," I grinned. "It's good ta see ya too."

"You're a badass, Ally," Rocco smirked, placing me back on my feet. "Facin off with Ivan like that. Van told me you shot at him."

"Ya did wot?" Connor asked.

"I didn' shoot at 'im," I rolled my eyes. "I shot 'round 'im. Not me fault dat he thought I was bluffin."

"Jaysus," Murphy laughed. "And 'ow'd we miss ye shootin a shotgun?"

"Ye were at McGinty's," I shrugged. "I was workin."

Realizing where we were having this conversation, I turned to look at the police who looked back at me before making it a point to look away. I think they were hero worshipping my brothers, which meant we could do no wrong in their eyes.

"Wanna play cards wit' us, Rocco?" I offered. "I was jus' bout ta win."

"Bull shite, ye were," Murphy scoffed.

"Do I sense a wager, dear brother?" I smirked.

"Don' ye dare," Connor interrupted as Murph moved to accept. "The last time ye two bet on something ye destroyed Ma's fuckin' living room."

"It was only a lamp," Murphy rolled his eyes.

"Actually, if I remember correctly, it was two," I winced.

"Exactly," Connor seemed proud of himself. "And I'd hate ta imagine wot ye could possibly fuckin break in 'ere."

"Shut it, Conn," I muttered. "Like ye and Murph never fuckin' broke anythin. I remember plenty o' broken windows, furniture, and bones."

Although, Murph and I didn't end up making a bet, I still won the original poker game and the one after that. We played poker for a few hours, getting to know Caffrey and Mitchell. The police officers were so impressed with what my brothers had done. And I had to admit it was pretty impressive. Connor had ripped the toilet out of the ground, which was amazing in and of itself. Some police officers brought us Chinese food and together Rocco, Connor, Murphy, and I ate.

Rocco left soon after that, leaving my brothers and I alone. It might've only been ten at night but we were all tired. Connor and Murph took off their shirts before they each grabbed a cot. I took off my shoes before I climbed onto the make shift bed that Mitchell had commandeered for me, by stealing one of the mattresses from one of the other cells. I slid under one of my brother's pea coats, quickly falling asleep.

_The sky was alive with angry fire: booming thunder and sizzling lightning. I hadn't seen a storm this bad in months, years even. It was pouring and windy and loud. It was the kind of storm that use to send me scurrying out of my bed and into one of my brothers. For as much as they could be mean to me; they never made fun of me in moments like that._

_"This poor soul cried out for help._

_They watched as he simply walked away._

_Indifference of good men._

_Nobody wanted to get involved._

_Nobody... _

_Nobody…"_

_As the voice of the Monsignor echoed around me, I struggled to breathe. My chest felt tight as I arched up off the bed, my eyes flying open. Water dripped down onto my face and chest. The monsignor's voice seemed to echo and it shook the very foundations of the police precinct. _

_"Whosever shed a man's blood by man shall his blood be shed. For in the image of God may deem a man," A voice exclaimed._

_This was not the Monsignor's voice but it was no less important. I looked from side to side seeing my brothers in the exact same position as I. Their eyes were glazed as Connor turned to look at Murph and I…_

_"Destroy all which is evil," Connor began._

_"So that which is good may flourish," Murphy finished._

Almost in the same moment we all slumped back on our mattresses and falling back asleep. I rolled over to my side and curled up. The next morning we were woken up by a sudden beeping. I yawned getting up and stretching, popping my back as I rubbed my eyes. What happened last night was one of the weirdest things that had happened to me in recent memory. What was that?

My brothers had killed two people. Was God telling us he approved? The indifference of good men…no one wanted to get involved. It wasn't in our nature not to get involved if we saw something bad happening. I looked between Connor and Murphy; they had woken up along with the beeping and were looking at one another. It was obvious they were contemplating the same thing I was. Destroy all, which is evil, so that which is good may flourish. God had spoken to us, he wanted us to rid the world of evil people. Like the Mafioso's who turned this city into a hellhole.

As Connor and Murphy put their shirts and jackets on, I realized that what had happened wasn't so unbelievable. After all hadn't that been what our family prayer was about? Was this a family business we didn't know about? Why our father had left us? I felt the sudden pressure of a headache, all of this was a little much to take in a short amount of time.

"Wot is dat?" Connor finally asked.

"Tha fuckin Russian's pager," Murphy replied, tossing it to Connor as we all rose to our feet.

We didn't talk as we walked up the stairs to the main floor. As Connor and Murphy walked through I heard cheers. Connor ignored it while Murphy raised his arms above his head, grinning from ear to ear.

"Do ye have a pen?" Connor asked the detectives: Greenly, Dolly, and Duffy.

Greenly was the tall dark haired man who had claimed we couldn't be found and then had smirked at me on the way to get Smecker a bagel. Duffy was slightly shorter. He was a man of medium build with blonde hair and green eyes. Dolly had long, graying brown hair and clear blue eyes. He was around the same height as Duffy with a more rotund figure. Caffrey and Mitchell were also there, smiling at us as Dolly handed Connor a pen

"Be right back," Connor mumbled to Murph and I before walking over towards the payphones.

"We would be honored, sir, if you would join us peasants, in a donut," Duffy smirked. "You too, sweetheart."

I laughed before taking a jelly donut from Murphy as he grabbed another one. He took a cup of coffee as well, taking a sip before handing it to me. After drinking some, I handed it back looking at the Boston Globe spread out on the table. The front page had a headline that read. "The Saints of South Boston." Saints? I smirked inwardly Ma would definitely disagree with that. I looked over at Murph who still looked shell shocked.

"Saints?" Murphy asked, still shocked before a slow smirk flitted across his features. "I will not accept this pizzle until me feet 'ave been properly anointed."

The officers all laughed before they asked for Murphy to tell them the story of what happened. Just as Murphy was leading up to the grand finale, his hands wide and animated, Connor appeared on his other side looking stern.

"Murph, I think we should go," Connor suggested. Although there was an edge to his tone. It was one I heard when Connor had disapproved of something but it was just yesterday that they had both been glorifying what had happened. Now he was suddenly serious in the way that only Connor could be.

"Aye," Murphy agreed. "See ye fellows later."

"Bye guys," They responded.

I waved goodbye myself before walking in step with Connor and Murphy. Having someone walking effortlessly at the same pace, mimicking my movements was much more comforting than I ever thought it would be. We were thirds, only when we were together were we whole. Some parents might've encouraged us to be apart, thinking a bond as close as we shared could be harmful to our development. Ma had seen something different. She made it so that no matter what we knew that we'd always have each other.

We had other friends and for a few years we had lives completely outside of each other. But there was a comfort knowing that a two people knew you inside and out, backwards and forwards. They recognized your mannerisms, how you acted when you were happy or upset, knew when you needed to be alone, or when you needed a fight to make you feel better. The bond we shared was something that would assist us in whatever was to come.

"Wot was dat page about?" Murphy asked.

"Meeting," Connor told us. "Tha Russian mob is meeting at Copley Plaza at nine."

"And we're gonna crash tha fuckin party," Murphy guessed.

"Aye," Connor responded.

For a moment identical blue eyes found mine and looked away just as quickly. That left me wondering if despite the epiphany we just had, that Conn and Murph would attempt to shelter me from this. I wasn't the same person I was before the rape, I felt like I was less naïve and ready to defend myself. But could I really kill someone? It wasn't a question that I could take a while to answer, I either could or I couldn't. And at the moment I didn't know which was worse.


	4. Dreaming Wide Awake

**Chapter Four: Dreaming Wide Awake**

"Fer tha las' time I said no!" Connor growled.

"Ye can' say no when I didn' ask fer yer fuckin' permission!" I shouted back. "Ya have no right ta tell me wot I can' do."

"Guys," Murphy sighed.

"Damn it, Allison," Connor snapped. "It's dangerous."

"God wouldn' include me if he didn' think I could handle it," I shrugged. "We all had tha same dream. I'm apart o' this."

"No, ye're not," Connor disagreed.

"Come off it, Connor," I growled. "Murph?"

"Oh, no, ya don'," Murphy scoffed. "I agree wit Conn, Ally."

"I'm goin," I stated firmly. "and there's nothin ye two can do bout it."

That would fall under things I shouldn't say as Connor and Murphy exchanged looks before leveling me with equally determined gazes. When they began to approach me, I got up from the couch and began to back away. I couldn't move fast enough to dart around both of them, as one of their arms snagged around my waist lifting me clear off the ground. The discrepancy between my height and theirs became painfully obvious at times like this. I kicked and flailed attempting to loosen the iron grip around my midsection but found it unyielding.

"Murphy Edmund MacManus, ya let go o' me," I shouted when I saw the 'Aequitas' adorning his right index finger.

"Stop kickin," He retorted. He grunted when my foot connected sharply with some point of his body, prompting Connor to grab my legs as they dragged me to their room.

They dropped me on the bed before they both walked out the door. I heard the tumblers of the locking mechanism clicking as they locked me in. I rocketed out of bed connecting with the door. I already knew that the door was locked and unfortunately, their window was also broken, meaning that I couldn't open the damn thing, it had been painted closed.

"Let me out!" I demanded. "This isn' funny."

"Looks like there was somethin we could do bout it, huh, Ally?" Murphy snickered.

"We'll be back later, to let ya out," Connor said. "Don' break nothin."

"Ye son of a bitch," I growled.

"Watch how ye talk about yer mother, there, Allison," Connor reminded.

I glared at the door, huffing like a teenager who had gotten their phone taken away. The front door shut. I walked to the window to see them heading towards McGinty's. I looked at my watch to see that it was only five in the afternoon. There had to be something in this room that could unlock that door. I began to scour the boy's room, running into far more things that I didn't need to see than useful things.

Finally I stumbled upon a screw driver. I didn't take the time to wonder what it was doing in here as I walked to the door, unscrewing the hinges before tapping it. In fell forward into the hallway. That had taken an hour but I didn't pause in my movements to grab the sluttiest dress I owned and my knee high stiletto boots. I loaded them both in a duffle bag before I pulled another suitcase out from under my bed. I opened it and pulled out two things I never thought I'd use. I bought them because they had just felt right. Those two things were two colt pistols complete with silencers. I dropped both guns with their clips into the duffel bag before I changed into black jeans, black tank top, and working boots. I put my hair up into a messy bun as I slid on black sunglasses.

Even though my brothers were long gone at this time I still took the time to carefully sneak out of the bar and out into the streets of Southie, making a beeline to the Copley Plaza. I snuck in through the back service entrance thinking about what I could possibly do. The Russians were arriving but I still had no idea what I was going to do. I only had another forty five minuets before nine so I didn't have much time to mull ideas around.

Anxious energy thrummed through my body, making me feel like I was vibrating with anticipation. Normally it was Murphy who was the restless one, always moving no matter what he was doing. Twitching, his legs jiggling whenever he sat. His hands would run over his face, over his hair, scratching his chin, before eventually his fingers inevitably found their way between his teeth. It was a habit that drove our mother crazy but Murphy just had so much energy, all the time. Connor was the calm one, every movement he ever made had a purpose, while I was the balance between the two, depending on my mood.

Finally I made up my mind, walking into the ground floor bathroom and locking the door behind me. I quickly stripped off my jeans, tank top, and boots changing into a plunging halter dress. I hopped onto the sink and pulled on both stiletto boots. I slid two blades into each hidden holster before I dropped both guns into the spare purse I had. I stashed my duffel bag behind the sink as I put my pea coat back on.

After I had put on more make up than I normally ever wore, I walked over to the reception. I asked the receptionist in a heavy Russian accent where Yuri's room was in. The man seemed suspicious but gave me the room number anyway. My heels clicked on the marble floor as I walked into the elevator before making my way into the room where the Russians were beginning to show up. The main room was filled with underbosses along with the head of the Russian mob, or at least one of the heads. Other security and ranking members were in other rooms, being entertained by women. Women who seemed like the last thing they wanted was to be here.

I flirted with a few men before I excused myself to the rest room. I looked at the clock and saw that it was nine on the dot. I could hear Yuri Petrova yelling in the main room. I kneeled on the ground as I pulled my guns out of my purses. I said a quick prayer, crossing myself before I threw open the door. Heads swiveled in my direction as the other women began to scream. Before any of the men could draw on me I was already a blur of movement, shooting as many as I could.

The sound of an unsilenced gun, jogged me out of my zone, or at least the searing pain that followed immediately thereafter did. A bear of a man, who looked like me might've been related to Ivan was stalking towards me. I fired before he could get another shot off shooting the last men in the room. The other women were all in one corner staring at me wide-eyed. I didn't have a chance to make sure they were okay before I heard a sharp crash from the main room followed my the 'thwip' sound that a silencer made. I pulled my jacket tighter around my body before quietly walking out, leaving the door open behind me.

"And shepherds we shall be, for thee my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from thy hand that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command. We shall flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti," Two voices intoned as one before two guns fired in tandem.

There were blood splatters everywhere and in the dead center of the room was a hole in the ceiling with a rope dangling out of it. I kept my back to the wall as I watched my brothers move around the room. They went around arranging the bodies so that each had their arms crossed over their chests, placing pennies over their eyes.

"Well, name one thing ye're gonna need tha stupid fuckin rope fer," Connor mocked, smirking at Murphy.

Murphy tapped him on his chest as they looked around the room, "Dat was way easier than I thought."

"Aye," Connor agreed.

"Ye know on TV, ya got dat guy who jumps over the sofa," Murphy complained.

"Then ye got a shoot out fer ten fuckin minutes too," Connor shook his head.

"Christ, we're good," Murphy smirked.

"Yes, we are," Connor laughed. "Now, wot do ya think is in dat little case there?"

I glanced in the direction Connor was pointing and saw an innocent looking black bag on the counter of the bar. Now that all the Russians were dead I realized exactly how nice this room was. Connor and Murphy glanced at one another, then at the case, before eyeing each other once more. My god, this was another move straight out of our childhood. Twisted though it was, I could see a nine year old Connor doing the exact same thing. Past and present merged in one as Connor stomped one foot forward, making it seem like he was going to run towards it. Murphy took the bait, as he always did, moving to beat him to it. Smirking victoriously, Connor grabbed him by the lapel knocking him to the ground as he ran over to the bag.

"Fuck me," Connor gasped.

"Tha hits jus keep on comin!" Murphy whooped, smacking Connor on the head with a wad of money.

"Ow!" Connor complained, holding some money under his nose. "Give it a smell."

"Ye both are gonna be sharing dat," I stated coming out of the shadows.

Before I could blink there were two guns in my face. I laughed lightly as disbelief, quickly followed by anger as Connor and Murphy gaped at me. The guns were removed quickly the safety was switched on before they put them back in their holsters.

"'Ow tha fuck did ye get out o' tha apartment?" Connor demanded.

"I found a screw driver," I shrugged. "Ye're door isn' exactly attached anymore."

"Where'd ye get those?" Murphy demanded.

At that moment Connor looked down at my hands were I was still holding both of my colt pistols. His eyes widened as he looked at me his look, echoing Murph's question

"I bought 'em in England," I replied. I looked up at the hole in the ceiling before smirking at the two of them. "Jus droppin in?"

"Don' ye even fuckin start," Connor hissed. "I told ya not ta come 'ere."

"And I told ye dat ye couldn' stop me," I retorted.

Connor looked angry at that statement and seemed like he was about to trounce me a good one when the door bell rang. Murph and Conn's attention shot to the door before they exchanged glances, then Connor's cobalt eyes found my own.

"Ye want in then ya do wot we say," Connor stated. "Ye got dat?"

"Aye," I agreed.

"Hide," Connor ordered.

I didn't say a word as I walked by them and crouched behind the bar counter. As I walked by Murph and Conn smacked me upside the head as they pulled their masks on. I listened quietly as they both began to giggle. All I heard was Rocco and big break, seconds before the crash of plates and then the two of them yelling at Roc.

It was a mess of voices and I only managed to understand that Rocco had been sent here by Poppa Joe Yakavetta and that Roc's gun was only a six shooter. With fourteen men in the suite, Roc would've been killed in seconds. I bit my lip as I heard them berating Rocco about his choice in ammunition, Rocco explaining that he was told that only two people would be there. It was Rocco's big break and it seemed to me like something had gone wrong. How could Poppa Joe only think two people would be here?

"We gotta do him, right here, right now," Murphy hissed, devoid of his normal accent with Connor following suit.

"Right!" Connor agreed. "Right."

"No! Don't kill me please!" Rocco begged. "I'm the funny man. I'm the funny man."

"Wot a fuckin idiot," Connor laughed as he and Murphy pulled their masks off.

"Fucking. What the fucking? Fuck! Who the fuck? Fuck this fuckin. How did you two fuckin… how did you two fucking fucks. Fuck!" Rocco shouted.

"Certainly illustrates tha diversity of tha word," Connor scoffed. As he and Murphy laughed.

At that point I had rose from my hiding spot behind the bar, watching as Rocco continued to mutter expletives to himself. Murphy and Connor shrugged off their coats eyeing Rocco curiously. Just when he calmed down he had turned to look at Connor and Murphy before his eyes found mine.

"The fuck are you doing here?" Rocco yelped.

"I killed tha men in tha back room," I shrugged.

"There were others?" Murphy snapped. "Tha fuck didn't ye tell us?"

"They're dead," I said "And tha other girls probably escaped out o' tha fire escape."

"Jaysus," Connor hissed.

"'Ow many?" Murphy asked.

"Five," I shrugged. "Tha girls were yellin' and got tha guys distracted."

"Shit," Rocco nodded. "How'd you learn to shoot a goddamn gun?"

"Same time they learned," I replied. "Had ta learn ta protect meself."

"We gotta get out o' here," Connor finally said. "We split up and meet at Roc's."

Rocco and Murphy walked out of the front door while Connor walked back into the room where I had killed five people. He ritualized the bodies, crossing their arms and placing pennies over their eyes before he climbed down the fire escape. Five minutes later I walked out of the maid's entrance grabbing my duffel bag before walking out of the lobby.

It took twice as long to get to Rocco's apartment. I had to stop three different times because of the shooting pain in my side. The third time the pain was enough to bring me to my knees, a sob squeezing it's way through my clenched teeth. I glanced at the makeshift bandage and saw that it had bled through, so much so that it might've been a crimson sheet I had used instead of ivory. Finally I made my way up the stairs, knocking on the door and letting myself in.

"I want to know what that was back there," Rocco demanded before turning to look at Connor and Murphy.

I walked over and sat on the other side of Murphy as they began to quickly explained what had happened to us and why were at that hotel suite. As they were telling the story they began to clean their weapons, dismantling them easily. After a fairly long summary Rocco was still looking as us blankly.

"Anybody you guys think is evil?" Rocco finally said.

"Aye," Connor answered.

"Don't you think that's a little psycho?" Rocco asked. "A little weird?"

"You know wot I think is psycho, Roc?" Connor asked. "Decent men wit loving families go home every day after work. They turn on tha news and see rapists, murderers, and child molesters all gettin out o' prison."

"Mafioso's gettin caught wit' twenty kilos and walkin on bail tha same fuckin day," Murphy added, snapping his fingers together for emphasis.

"Little girls catchin stray bullets in their heads, playin hopscotch in their front yards. And everyone thinks tha same thing…Someone should jus go kill those motherfuckers."

"Kill 'em all," Murphy growled. He held up his empty gun, pulling the trigger so it would click. "Admit it, even yeh've thought about it."

All was silent for a moment as Conn and Murph cleaned the guns. Finally Rocco came to a conclusion, "You guys should be in every major city."

We all laughed softly as Rocco began to work himself up, "This is some heavy shit. This is like Lone Ranger-heavy man. Fuck it! There's so much shit that pisses me off. You guys should recruit 'cause I'm sick and fuckin tired of walkin down the street waitin for one of these assholes to get me, y'know?"

"Hallelujah, Jaffar," Murphy chuckled eyeing Rocco's bellhop uniform's nametag.

"So you're not just talkin' mob guys. You're talkin anyone, right? Even pimps and drug dealers and all that shit?"

"Aye," Connor nodded.

"Well, fuck, you guys could do this every day," Rocco suggested.

"We're like 7-Eleven," Murphy mused. "We ain't always doing business, but we're always open."

"Nicely put," Connor praised.

"Thank ye," Murphy grinned

After we had answered Rocco's questions to his satisfaction he went into the kitchen to order a few pizzas. When he came back he was carrying two cases full of Guinness. It was at that point where I rose, shakily to my feet, and moving into the bathroom. I bit down hard on my lip as I pulled off my coat. I changed into the jeans and tank top I was wearing before this mess had started. I dropped the bloody sheet that had been wrapped around me, wincing as it tore the recently scabbed wound wide open.

"Shite," I muttered, baring my teeth angrily.

Blood slicked my hands and ran down my side. Wincing, I grabbed one of the hand towels pressing it to my side. I sighed before I walked back out into the dining room. Rocco and my brothers were laughing and talking only for everything to stop as Murphy looked in my direction.

"Jaysus Christ, wot happened ta ye?"

I stumbled slightly as I closed the bathroom door behind me.

"Ally, ye all right?" Murphy questioned when I didn't answer his original question.

I could hear him asking questions but a sudden surge of dizziness had me leaning heavily against the recently shut door. The room spun in circles as my body felt leaden. I was so out of it that I didn't realize that Connor and Murphy had been approaching until I pitched forward, Connor barely managing to catch me before I hit the ground. I could feel nimble calloused fingers prodding at the torn flesh, his voice angry and concerned as he spoke to Murphy.

Who realized how much our upbringing would factor into our new found calling? Because our home pretty far away from the hospital if we were ever hurt and we could fix it, we would. Ma had taught us how to stitch wounds closed, feel for broken bones, and during one cold winter, when Connor had sliced his finger nearly to the bone, she taught us how to cauterize with an iron or anything else that could get really hot. Burning the wound shot, to stop the blood loss. It hurt like nothing you could ever imagine. I could still hear Connor's muffled screams as Ma closed the laceration. She told us that it had to be held on the wound for thirty seconds, too early and you'd have to do it again.

If we had been able to go to the hospital we would've but it had been snowing steadily for days, there was enough that we wouldn't be leaving the house for at least a week. I don't know where Ma had learned all that first aid training but it came in handy.

"Rocco, get the iron, put it on the stove, and heat it until it's glowing red," Connor ordered.

He and Murph moved quickly lifting me from Connor's arms so that I was supported by the two of them as I was carried to the kitchen table. Conn and Murph laid me gently down at the table. I heard Rocco mutter something but it was said to quickly for me to hear it. Murphy stayed by my head, moving the hair away from my face as he placed a palm on my shoulder.

"Murph hold 'er arms, Roc 'er feet," Connor stated as he moved to pull the iron off the stove. I felt Murphy's warm, calloused fingers restraining my wrists as Rocco grabbed my ankles. I heard the sizzle of the molten iron.

The only warning I had that the iron was about to touch the graze on my side was Connor's other hand pinning me to the table so I wouldn't thrash too much. He patted my side in comfort before the iron crept closer to me. Once the iron touched my skin, I screamed through the dish towel that Murphy had placed in my mouth. The stench of burning flesh and cooking blood filled the air. It felt like hours had passed but in reality was only half a minute at the before the iron left my side. I slumped down on the table, trembling through the pain and exertion of trying to escape the agony. When I tried to move to get off the table, Murphy's hand came down on my shoulder pushing me back to the table.

"Hey, easy now," Murphy chided. "Ye lost a fair amount o' blood."

Too tired to argue I just nodded my head as Connor came back with an ace bandage and burn cream. I woke up when Conn began smearing burn cream on my side, cleaning it out thoroughly before bandaging it up. I gently eased myself down from the table and attempting to go back into the living room. My legs must not have gotten the memo because the second I took a step I was rocketing face first to the ground. I wasn't surprised when Murphy grabbed the back of my shirt, keeping me from falling as he lifted me back up.

"Wot did I jus tell ye," Murphy huffed. Exasperation making his tone more curt than it would otherwise be.

I bit my lip wanting nothing more than to push him off me but I knew the second I did that I'd crumble to the floor.

"Shut it, Murph," I growled. "It's not like a fuckin' wanted ta be shot."

"If ye had stayed 'ome it wouldn' 'ave happened," Murphy responded.

"Fuck ye," I snapped. "I saved yer fuckin arses. I bet ye didn' even know tha' there was another room full o' 'em."

"I'm not gonna argue wit ye," Murphy responded.

"Neither am I," I retorted. "Cause ye two aren' gonna lock me in a fuckin room any more."

"Don' ye understand 'ow dangerous this is?" Murphy hissed. "Yeh've been shot fer Christ fuckin sakes!"

"Lords fuckin' name!" Connor admonished suddenly appearing in the kitchen by Murphy's side. A sharp cuff upside the head echoed the reprimand as Connor continued, "Leave 'er alone, ye fuckwit. Come on, Ally, let's get ye ta bed."

Connor lifted my other arm over his shoulder and together both he and Murphy nearly carried me over to the pull out couch in the other room. I was placed gently on top of it as I quickly fell asleep.

I stirred slightly when I heard Rocco yelling about something or another and then woke up for a moment when I heard the sound of someone slamming their hands on the table, quickly followed by the sound of a gunshot. I gasped, scrambling awake, grabbing one of my knives, and running into the living room only to collide with Connor's back as Murphy yelled, "I can' believe tha' jus' fuckin happened!"

"Wot fuckin happened?" I asked as Connor spun around, his arms coming around me. I felt Murphy leaning into Connor and Rocco, grabbing at Connor's shirt.

"Don' look," Connor replied, his arm tightened slightly around me keeping my face turned in his chest. "Ye don' need ta see this."

"Wot is 'this', Conn?" I mumbled. "Are ya hurt?"

I pulled myself away in order to look up into his face, when he shook his head I turned to Murphy finding the same answer and then turned to Rocco, who hadn't been hit either.

"Did I hear a fuckin gun?" I questioned.

"Aye," Murphy replied.

"But, none o' ye are hurt?" I repeated.

"Aye," Connor said.

It was at that point that Connor let go of me; Murphy handed us both a cigarette. I shook my head, running a hand through my hair as I placed the cigarette between my lips. Inhaling the nicotine I moved around my brothers to grab a beer. As I snagged a Guinness, I looked up to see the wall across from me was covered in blood and dented.

Glancing at the guys I shook my head, "Where's Skippy?"


	5. Won't Back Down

**Chapter Five: Won't Back Down**

The next morning crept upon us with all the subtly of a freight train. I winced burrowing my face in Rocco's couch as the sun blinded me. My head felt cloudy with the remnants of a hangover, making my movements sluggish. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, accidently kicking Murphy in the head. He mumbled something before rolling over and smacking Connor. I laughed when Connor swatted at Murphy before falling back to sleep. I got up, stretching smiling as my back popped.

I walked into the kitchen, eyeing the bloodied wall, with a mixture of revulsion and bewilderment. Only Rocco could accidently kill a cat. I still didn't know how that could possibly have happened. I put some coffee on, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of Murphy's coat, pulling one out and lighting it, smoking as I waited. Just as the coffee was finishing, I watched Connor and Rocco stumble outside. Both in the same clothing they were wearing earlier.

Five minutes later Murphy got up, pausing in his movements to gesture to me to come with him. I yawned before traipsing after him grabbing my coat on the way out. Murphy and I walked out of the apartment entrance where Connor and Rocco were arguing with one another.

"No," Rocco shook his head. "No rolling. Nothin' needs to be rolled."

"Where are ye goin?" Murphy asked Rocco, lighting two cigarettes and handing one to me before he turned to Connor. "Did ye tell 'im?"

"Aye," Connor responded. "O' course I did."

"Then wot tha fuck?" Murphy snarled, glaring at Rocco.

It became obvious that we had all concluded that Rocco had been set up last night. He wasn't supposed to walk out of there. We had saved his life last night, if we weren't there, Rocco wouldn't be breathing. That though caused my breathing to hitch as I gazed at Rocco. I might not have known him for very wrong but he had quickly become one of my best friends. I don't know what we would've done if we had lost him last night. Still, just because I loved the guy didn't mean that I wasn't exasperated with the fact that he wanted to run right back to the people who were all to willing to throw him under the bus.

"Hey," Rocco protested. "You guys don't know that shit for sure."

"Oh, Jaysus!" Murphy rolled his eyes. "Ye're such a fuckin' retard!"

Rocco glared at Murphy shoving his shoulders back, prompting Murph to do likewise. Seconds later both had their hands fisting one another's coats as they yelled.

"Fuck you!" Rocco growled.

"Roc, we're jus' tryin ta protect ye here," I cajoled.

"Use yer fuckin brain fer once!" Murphy barked. "Is it so unbelievable they don' fuckin care about ye? Ye're fuckin dead if ye go in there today. Dead!"

"Oh, yeah," Rocco sneered. "You three fuckin' Micks know what's going on, huh?" He flipped Connor and Murphy off as he glared at me as well. "Fuck you!"

"No, fuck ye, Rocco!" I snapped. "If we weren't there last night, ye'd be dead. Do ye get dat?"

"You don't know that," Rocco retorted.

"Oh, come on," I scoffed. "So, ye're telling me dat ye 'ave such a good shot dat ye could take out six o' them. Coz dat was all ye had. Six shots, six people and dat's without even factoring in tha others."

"Hey," Connor snapped. "This ain't a thing ye should gamble on, Roc."

The argument stopped as a young girl road by on a bicycle. We smiled at her before turning back to the conversation at hand.

"I'm the fuck out of here," Rocco muttered.

The look he shot us before he walked away sent a surge of rage buzzing through my system. The look of betrayal, Rocco was upset with us for trying to protect him because we saw what he couldn't. We weren't the ones who betrayed him and hopefully he realized that before he got hurt. I bit my lip as I watched Murphy following him.

"Fine!" Murphy shouted only going to the opening of the apartment complex, he kicked the gate that normally kept the courtyard closed. "Fuck it! Wot kind o' flowers ya want at yer funeral? Ya dumb Wop. This is tha last time I'm gonna see ya."

"I'll be back at nine," Rocco growled. "Bury the fuckin cat."

"Ye're a fuckin dumb ass, Rocco!" I yelled at his retreating form.

"Listen, ya get in there, ye start getting a bad feelin; ya get the fuck out quick!" Connor screamed.

"He's such a fuckin retard!" I hissed, following after Murphy back into the apartment. "Gonna get 'imself killed."

Connor shut the door behind himself as the three of us exchanged looks.

"He's gonna be okay" Connor told us. I didn't know who he was trying to convince more: Murph and I or himself.

"I'm gonna call Van," I frowned. "Poor lad's probably off his nut wonderin where we are. You two should clean up Skippy."

"Dat's disgustin," Murphy wrinkled his nose.

"No," I disagreed. "Wot's disgustin is the fact that ye two left it there."

I smirked at Murphy's glare as I walked into the kitchen to call Van. Based on how fast he answered, I could tell that Van was slowly loosin his mind. I told him that we were okay, leaving out the whole mission from God stuff. Van was a lot of things but he wasn't religious, he'd think we were insane before he believed that story. As it was he had to come home to a apartment that was currently down a front door and toilet, with another door resting on the hallway.

"Wot 'ave ye three gotten yerselves inta?" Van asked.

"We're fine," I answered. "We jus might not be by fer a little while."

"Why?" Van demanded.

"It's jus' not safe," I shrugged.

"Not safe?" Van repeated his voice rising. "Tha fuck are ye talkin bout? Not safe?"

"Connor!" I yelled. "Phone!"

"Ally," Van growled.

I shoved the phone into Connor's hands slipping into the living room where Murphy had just finished cleaning the wall.

"Well, Van can give Ma a run fer 'er money," I shook my head sliding into one of the seats, yawning widely.

Before Murphy could reply, Connor joined us back in the living room, eyeing me angrily before smacking me upside the head.

"Ye know jus wot ta say ta put someone's mind at ease there, Ally," Connor shook his head. "He was 'avin a right fucking canary!"

"Wot was I supposed ta do?" I responded rubbing my head. "Lie ta 'im?"

Murphy and Connor dropped into the seats next to me. Silence reigned or mostly reigned. Murphy tapped his fingers on the counter top, flicking his lighter as we all smoked, filling an ashtray with ease. Connor read a magazine, lit cigarette between his fingers, while I just stared off into space.

When the door was thrown open we straightened up, immediately hoping it was Rocco walking through the door. I slouched back into my seat when the door swung open enough to reveal Donna and her friend, Ravyie. Both were high as kites on God only knew what. Donna stared at us in confusion for a moment, calling for Skippy, causing the three of us to eye each other. Giving up trying to call for Skippy the two teetered in, moving into the living room and quickly falling asleep on the couch.

It felt like we were waitin for anything for hours, until the phone suddenly rang. Murphy's hand lunged out grabbing the phone.

"Hello?" Murphy answered immediately. "Roc. Ye okay? No, man, are ye sure ye're okay?"

The conversation was short and based on the conversation it didn't put Murph's mind at ease. Oh god, what was Rocco doing? I could understand that he didn't want to believe that the people he had been working with for eighteen years didn't give a shit whether he lived or died. He had been stuck in the same position since high school, at least according to Connor and Murphy. Last night was his only chance to make something of himself. At least in the mob underworld.

Frowning, Murphy got up heading into the kitchen. I followed after him while Connor grabbed the bag of money, opening it after making sure the whores were asleep. Murphy lit two cigarettes using the gas stove handing one to me, as he pulled a saucepan out of one of the cabinets. He filled the pot with water, placing it on the open flame. He dumped nearly five dollars worth of pennies into the pot, adding salt, stirring the mixture together. When it was finished, they'd be perfectly shiny.

I was sitting on the counter top, watching Murph while he worked when the door suddenly flew open. I leaned slightly to the right to see the whirlwind that was Rocco, rushing into the apartment completely hysterical. Tears were streaming down his face, immediately causing the hair on the back of my neck to rise. Something bad had happened. As he rushed around, I tried to see if he was hurt. Thankfully, I don't think he was, he was just freaking the fuck out.

"Pack your shit!" Rocco howled. "We gotta get outta here! We gotta get out!"

"Oh, god," I hissed.

"Wot the fuck are ye talkin about?" Connor demanded.

Connor had popped up from the table as Murphy and I walked into the dining room, watching Rocco curiously. I wondered where he had gotten the duffel bag that he was now using to throw anything and everything into.

"I killed them!" Rocco shouted. "Oh, god, I killed them all!"

"Rocco!" Donna shouted. The noise was obviously loud enough to wake the druggie out of a dead sleep.

"Hey, hey, jus calm down." Murphy said, placing his hand on Rocco's back. "Tell us wot happened."

"No!" Rocco yelled. "No! Fuck you! You start getting excited. We gotta fuckin go."

"Who'd ye kill?" Connor asked.

"How many were there?" Murphy questioned.

"Hurry the fuck up!" Rocco yelled, ignoring their questions as he continued to move.

I flattened myself against the wall as Rocco brushed by me, shoving an iron into the duffel bag as he started throwing random stuff canned goods into a bag. Oh, god, Roc, what have you done? His movements were erratic, tears were still streaming down his face, and his hands were shaking. I shared a look to Connor who looked as apprehensive about this as I did. Murphy, on the other hand, seemed to be feeding off Rocco's energy smiling widely.

"All right, I love this shite!" Murphy whooped.

"The fuck is wrong wit' ye, Roc?" Connor demanded.

I couldn't help but smirk as Rocco still rushed around the apartment, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to pack.

"Those cock suckers sold me out!" Rocco snapped.

"Didn't I fuckin tell ya, Rocco?" Connor rolled his eyes. "Did they pull on ye ferst?"

"Rocco!" Donna yelled.

"What did I fuckin' do?" Rocco mumbled. "In the middle of the fuckin' Lakeview."

"Lakeview?" Connor repeated, slapping a hand over his face in disbelief. "Lakeview the deli, Roc?"

"Oh, shit," Murphy scoffed. "Looks like we got ourselves a new fuckin recruit!"

"Jesus," I shook my head.

"Rocco!" Donna and Ravyie yelled.

"What?" Rocco snapped turning on them, fire in his eyes.

"Where's my cat?" Donna asked softly, confused in the face of Roc's anger.

After a slight pause, Rocco glared at Donna, "I killed your fuckin cat, you druggie bitch."

"You…" Donna gaped. "Oh god, why?"

"I felt it would bring closure to our relationship!" Rocco growled.

When Murphy laughed, I slapped him upside the head. Accident or no, Skippy was a good cat, even if Donna was a bitch. It didn't deserve to die the way it did. Murphy growled, smacking me back.

"You killed my…my…"

I rolled my eyes. She didn't even know the cat's name. Rocco's reaction was a little extreme, flipping the coffee table as he towered over the two of them. I felt Connor tap my shoulder nodding his head, a silent order to grab my stuff as we moved quickly, already ready to go.

Rocco walked closer, glaring menacingly at her. "Your what? You're fuckin what?

"My…my…"

With a growl, Rocco grabbed Donna's wrist, placing the gun to his temple, "Your what, bitch? I'll shoot myself in the head, you can tell me that cat's name! Go ahead…your what? Your precious little…"

"Pee...Per…Man," Donna stuttered, crying.

"Peeperman?" Rocco scoffed. "Wrong! What color was it?"

"It was…it was…"

"Male or female, bitch?" Rocco growled.

"Don't you yell at her you fuckin prick!" Ravyie shouted.

"Shut your fat ass, Ravyie!" Rocco retorted. "I can't buy a pack of smokes without running into nine guys you fucked."

Ravyie gasped before bursting into tears holding onto to Donna as the two began to sob. Well, that had to be the most dysfunctional break up I had ever had the misfortune of witnessing. I pulled on my coat as Conn, Murph, and I moved closer to the door.

"Let's go!" Connor ordered.

"Let's get the fuck out of here!" Rocco snapped after he had grabbed one of the girl's car keys.

Murphy pushed the door open, leading us as we walked quickly down a few flights of stairs, hitting the front entrance in a manner of minutes. I walked in step with Murphy, Connor and Rocco in front of us.

"Those rat fucks," Rocco snarled. "All of them were laughing at me, man."

"Ye sure ya killed 'em, Roc?" Murphy asked. He was holding his coat in his arms, with his duffel bag held over his shoulder, behind his head.

"Fuckin-A-right I did," Rocco nodded. "I had a goddamn turkey shoot over there."

"Listen Roc, did anybody see ya?" Connor questioned.

"Fuck, man," Rocco sighed. "I might as well have gone out postin flyers. Right out in fuckin public, man."

Rocco's hands slammed down on the roof of the car as he shook his head.

"Liberatin, innit?" Murphy asked, clapping Rocco on the back as I crawled into the backseat behind Connor.

"Let's fuckin go!" Connor yelled as he turned the car on.

"You know it is, a bit," Rocco smirked climbing into the seat beside me.

Once Murph was in the car, Connor floored it, driving to god knows where. My face was no doubt set in a frown, my knees pulled up to my chest as I worked out all of this in my head. Conn, Murph, and I were technically in the country illegally, which meant if we were actually caught in the act of murder, we'd only be deported. Rocco, on the other hand would be locked up. I could feel my brother's eyes on me as I thought about everything, would we still be able to carry out our calling if we were sent away?

There was plenty of lowlifes in both England and Ireland, as well as other countries to keep us busy but what about all the crime here? There were mobsters in nearly every major city. What Rocco had said in jest was also true. We should be in every city, which lead to other questions. Were we the only ones? Or were there others? It made sense that the MacManus family was called for something like this; it put our family prayer in perspective. Was that why our father left? Uncle Sibeal promised that he would be there if he could and Ma had grumbled that she never thought he'd leave her to raise the three of us by herself.

"Stop the car!" Rocco suddenly snapped.

Connor jerked the car to a stop, the three of us on the lookout for any danger before shooting an angry glares Rocco's way. I glanced out the window, realizing that it was dusk now and that we were directly in front of a strip club.

"Vincenzo, that fat motherfucker, he's Yakavetta's right hand. He's the one who set me up.," Rocco grumbled. "Then he went around shooting his mouth off, telling everyone I was as good as dead. He goes in there every Wednesday night around 10:00, he jerks off in the same booth to the same stripper. Never misses."

"So?" Murphy asked.

"So, let's kill the motherfucker!" Rocco responded. "I mean, what are you guys…like that's your new thing, right?"

"Yeah, well…" Connor began his gaze shooting to look at Murph before his eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.

"Oh, what the fuck?" Rocco complained. "How do you guys decide who you're… I mean, who makes the cut? Is there a raffle or something?"

"Well, truth be known, those ferst ones jus kinda fell inta our laps," Murphy shrugged.

"Well, what'd ya do?"

"I guess we don' really 'ave a system o' deciding who, Roc," Connor sighed.

"Me! Me!" Rocco yelled excitedly. "I'm the guy. I know everyone, their habits, where they hang out, who they talk to. I know where they fuckin live! We could kill everyone!"

"Wot do ya think?" Murphy asked Connor.

"I'm strangely comfortable wit' it," Connor smirked. "Ally?"

"Let's do it," I grinned.

When it appeared that we had a sudden plan for that evening, Connor started the car, driving us to what apparently was Rocco's grandmother's house. According to Roc, she wouldn't be home for a few days because she had gone to visit his brother in New York. That gave us a good place to lay low. No one would look for us here. We dropped our stuff off there and got ready for the night.

I dropped my duffel bag next to my brothers as we all got out our guns. They had identical 9mm's with silencers while I had my Colts. I grabbed them, making sure they were clean and fully loaded before I screwed my silencers on. I grabbed my knives where they were waiting in their own little compartment. I slid two of them from their holders and into my coat pockets.

"Ye got guns and knives?" Murphy asked.

"Aye," I answered. "Wot's it ta ye?"

"A knife not gonna work against a bullet," Murphy noted.

"Tha was a hard conclusion ta come ta, innit?" I smirked.

Murphy glared at me, shoving me back a few steps, "Shut it."

"Aw, wot's a matter, Murph?" I grinned. "Use yer brain too much today?"

It was and always would be easier to pick fights with Murphy than Connor. Murph was just easily riled up, hell, just staring at him for a few minutes would get you cuffed upside the head. The fights the three of us would get into normally always went from verbal to physical, ranging from playful to knock-down drag out brawls. Limbs flew while we insulted each other in every language we knew. There had never been a shortage of black eyes, bloodied noses, or the occasional broken bone or furniture in any MacManus household, least of all ours.

Whenever my brothers fought one another, Ma would come out of nowhere, finally irritated with all the shouting, yanking them apart before grabbing each by the ear. As they grew taller, it became more amusing as they had to bend at the waist, lest she twist it right off as she lectured them all the while, an ear firmly trapped between her thumb and forefinger as they tried to wiggle away. It trick she used regardless of which one of us were doing the fighting. Murphy and Connor, Connor and I, Murphy and I.

Our mother was convinced she was a Saint for raising the three of us without killing at least one. Although, Annabelle MacManus would never say it, she loved being a mother, loved it when we bickered, using our new language skills to insult one another. What she loved most was to prank us or at least the boys.

Despite what one may believe we didn't always fight just to fight, sometimes we needed to get out some anger, release tension, or as a distraction. I think the reason why I chose to pester Murphy was to get my mind off something that as becoming far more complex by the minute. Would God be happy that we allowed Rocco to fight along side us? We had been given the calling, Rocco hadn't.

In a matter of seconds, Murphy had carefully placed his guns on the table and stepped away from the table, moving into the middle of the room. He stood up straight, eyeing me with a mixture of boredom and expectancy.

"Well?" Murphy prodded.

"Well, wot?" I growled. My sudden frustration with the situation mounting as Connor and Murphy exchanged an amused look. Like one would have when regarding a toddler throwing a tantrum. Only my brothers could produce that kind of reaction without saying a word.

"Are ya gonna throw a punch or wot?" Murphy shrugged. "Ye're obviously inchin fer a fight, Ally, and ye know I'm always obliged ta trounce ye good. So?"

I crossed my arms and stared back at my brother, unwilling to acknowledge that Murphy had guessed right.

Sighing, Murphy rolled his eyes. "Don' be stubborn, Ally, ye know this kinda o' tension ain' good fer wot we're planning ta do tonight."

I straightened my spine, shooting a look towards Connor who nodded his head. With an exhale; I pounced on Murphy, knocking both of us to the ground. Murphy's reaction to the tackle was a loud laugh even as his breath came out in a whoosh. He continued to laugh, even when I punched him in the jaw.

"Now, there's a good lass," Murphy praised.

I clung tight to his shirt pulling him along with me, putting a bootless foot in his stomach and knocking myself away from him. Even breathless once more, nothing shook the gleam in Murphy's eyes. The same gleam that we all got when we were scrappin.

"Ye can do better than dat, Ally," Murphy scolded.

I smirked swinging my fist towards his face as the fight began in earnest. Murphy gave as well as he received. I caught a fist in the cheek and chin. I didn't keep track of where I hit Murphy only knowing by his grunts that most shots connected. I could feel Connor's eyes on the two of us making sure that the fight didn't actually turn from a way to release tension into an actual fight.

"Alright, alright, come on ye two," Connor growled a few minutes later hefting both of us to our feet.

When we were steady, Connor released his grip on our shirts, stepping back. Murphy smiled at me as his tongue prodded his split lip clapping me on the back as he grabbed his carton of cigarettes off the table. Pulling out three, he lit them, keeping one in his mouth as he handed the other two to Connor and I.

"Are you guys ready?" Rocco asked sometime later

Connor looked to Murph and I before answering, "Aye, let's go."

Piling into the car, anticipation thrummed through the air. Connor maneuvered the car to the area behind the strip club that was called the Sin Bin. I shuddered as I leaned against its wall. The guns were a familiar and comforting weight in my hand. My facemask now only acting as a hat. Smoke curled in the alley as we waited for Vincenzo Lipazzi.

The sudden sound of flesh hitting flesh had me looking up and directly into the opposing alley. A kid, maybe thirteen at the most was stopped by someone wearing a hooded Boston Bruins jacket. The poor kid looked scared out of his wits as the other man smacked him again. A shaking hand held up a wad of money, causing the drug dealer to snatch it and slap a small baggie into the boy's chest, tossing the kid away like garbage.

I watched Conn and Murph glance at each other before they both began to walk towards the drug dealer. An old car spluttered to a stop in front of the alley, causing both to halt in their actions. Rocco nodded his head in confirmation that the man who struggled to get out of the driver's seat was Vincenzo. My face darkened into a scowl, a man like Vincenzo was someone who I hated. A man who strutted around like nothing could touch him. Many a mob member had that very strut. The walk of a man who didn't know his life was entering its final moments.

Once Vincenzo was in the strip club, we made our move into the building winding down a long dark hallway. Connor, Murphy and I slid on our masks standing in front of the door. The three of them had identical guns armed and loaded.

"Okay Roc, this is…" Murphy began, obviously attempting to impress how serious this whole thing was. His statement trailed off as he turned the seriousness faded into laughter.

Connor turned to glare at Murphy only to laugh himself. Seeing both of my brothers laughing made me wonder exactly what was so funny so I turned too. Rocco had made his own mask from a cotton hat. The holes were ragged and his hair stuck out from his right eye and mouth hole.

"What?" Rocco complained. "You guys got masks."

"Ya look like Mush Mouth from Fat Albert!" Murphy snickered, causing Connor and I to laugh harder.

Luckily, the music from the strip club would be loud enough to drown out any extra noises we made.

"Fine!" Rocco pouted, pulling off the mask dramatically. "Fuck it. When we're done, she can ID me. I don't care, just tryin to be professional, but no…"

"No," Connor interrupted his eyes mirthful. "No. It looks good. C'mon, put it back on. It's good."

I smiled as Rocco glared at Connor and Murphy, begrudgingly putting the mask back on as we turned to the door once more. It was there I noticed that there was something painted on the plain gray door. Abandon hope all ye who enter here. The inscription that was supposedly written on hell's entrance. My brothers and I had read the original in Italian: La Divina Commedia. Straightening my spine, I focused my gaze onto what lay past that door.

"Okay Roc," Murphy snickered, laughter in his voice as he imitated Mush Mouth. "You sure you're O-B-kay-B?"

We burst into the room moving through the beads that hung down over the door, climbing up the few steps and into the main room. A topless dancer stat smoking and drinking a cup of coffee on a couch that was placed in front of three big steel door with money slots. Rocco moved forward, lifting the woman off the couch, placing a hand over her mouth and a gun to her head.

I waited close to the door both of my guns raised in case anything happened.

"Which one is he in?" Rocco demanded. "You know who the fuck I'm talking about. Which one?"

The dancer raised one shaking hand to the middle door. We watched as a hundred dollar bill slipped through the slot. Connor pulled it out and gave it to the dancer.

"You've earned this," He said.

Connor pressed the orange button, watching as the door slid up. Vincenzo froze in his movements to stare at us. I moved from leaning against the wall to stand by my brothers as we began to recite, "And shepherds we shall be, for thee my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from thy hand that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command. We shall flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."

Vincenzo barely had time to react as we began to shoot, the bullets piercing the glass as his chest explodes. The glass splinters before it shattered. I turned to look at Rocco who was nearly bouncing up and down in excitement. The dancer was beside herself, crying and hyperventilating before she fainted. He lay her down gently as Connor and Murphy hopped into the booth. They crossed his arms and placed meticulously shined pennies in his now sightless eyes.

"Wot tha fuck are ya doin?" Connor demanded suddenly, startling both Murphy and I as we pulled up our masks turning to look at Rocco, who had been fondling the dancer's breast.

"I…I'll tip her," Rocco grimaced holding his hands up as he jumped off the couch.

"Jaysus, Roc," I sighed.

"We've teamed with a sex offender," Murphy shook his head.

"So, when are you getting a plastic fuck doll?" Connor wondered.

"All right," Rocco muttered. "I'm sorry. I'm pathetic."

True to his word, he gave the dancer some money before turning to look at us once more. Before we could say anything two more bills slid through the slots of the other two doors. Murphy and Connor moved to look into the booths. The smile that emerged set another thrill of anticipation through me.

"This is like a scumbag yard sale," Connor mused.

"We oughta come down 'ere once a week and clean house," Murphy suggested.

"You sure about this guy?" Rocco asked about one of the men in the booth.

Connor and Murphy nodded in affirmation.

"Oh man, you've gotta let me do these guys," Rocco pleaded. "I'm such a moron. I gotta make up for the tit thing."

"No way," Connor grumbled. "I've been waitin fer this asshole."

"Aw, c'mon," Rocco whined.

"Give 'im a shot," Murphy said.

"Fine," Connor sighed after a moment of thought. "This is tha real deal, Roc. We kill without hesitation, guilt, or remorse. Evil men, dead men."

The grin slid off Rocco's face as he nodded seriously. Connor and Murphy check their clips before reloading their guns, each handing him on. Rocco moved to stand in the middle a gun pointed to either door. Murphy and Connor hit the orange buttons at the same time, immediately ducking out of the way, as Rocco let it fly.

The next few minutes was riddled with bullets and screams as Rocco continually fired, even going so far as to cross his arms over his chest and shoot that way. That last move caused the three of us to exchange glances before we rolled our eyes.

"Let's go!" Connor snapped, immediately snagging both guns from Rocco, making sure the safety was on before tossing Murph his gun. We walked back through the door, Connor and Murphy placing their guns back in their holsters.

"Oh man, you guys gotta teach me that prayer," Rocco said as he shut the door. "That's some good shit."

"Forget it," Connor stated. "It's a family prayer. Me Da, his Da before 'im tha' sort o' shit."

"C'mon!"

"Sorry Roc," I grinned, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Ye gotta be a MacManus ta know tha' prayer."


	6. An Accident Waiting to Happen

**Chapter Six: An Accident Waiting to Happen**

"How's yer burn?" Murphy asked.

The question was the first thing that had been said since we had left the Sin Bin two hours ago. Connor, Murphy, and I were cleaning the guns while Rocco had gone out to grab some Chinese food.

"S'alrigh'," I shrugged. "It doesn't really hurt tha much anymore."

"Was it a good idea fer Rocco to go alone?" Connor wondered.

I glanced at the clock on the stove; seeing that it was close to midnight. Murphy was about to answer when the front door was thrown open. Rocco shut the door behind himself holding two bags of take out. He dropped them on the table, being careful to avoid the guns.

"You guys just had to order from the one place with a line out the door?" Rocco shook his head, dropping into the open seat next to me.

I laughed as I rose to my feet, moving the guns to the counter as Rocco, Connor, and Murphy pulled the take out containers out of the bags before knocking it to the floor. Murphy passed me a pair of chopsticks as I grabbed my container of lo mein. There other containers were filled with egg rolls, spring rolls, wantons, beef with broccoli, and fried rice.

"Conn, ye dick, stop eatin all my noodles," I mumbled, smacking his hand as he moved to snag the container out of my hand.

"Then don' eat all my shrimp," Connor smirked.

"Ally, dat's jus cannibalistic, innit?" Murphy teased.

"Shut it," I laughed pointing my chopsticks at him.

Luckily Rocco had also gotten another box of Guinness so that we'd have something to drink with all this food. I reached over to grabbing a can from the stack on the edge of the table. I took a sip as I grabbed some beef from Murphy's container, holding mine out so that he could have some noodles. It felt like we had been eating for hours but we had barely put a dent in the food.

"Let's talk some business here," Rocco said after things had become quiet once more. "I know a sick fuck…makes the ones we been doing look like altar boys. Worst night of my life when I met this guy."

I placed my container on the table as I looked at Rocco. I was once again surprised by the seriousness in his gaze. In the short amount of time that I've known Roc, he was barely ever serious. Every so often I looked over to Connor and Murphy as Rocco talked about this guy. Apparently there had been a hit on some rogue mob member and this guy had taken out the mobster, his wife, their two kids, and the family dog. He cleaned up the blood, ripped up the carpet and knocked out portion of the wall where the blood had splattered. I never heard of anything like it.

"It was the worst day of my life, man," Rocco sighed.

"Well, I'm sold," Murphy shrugged after a pause.

"Aye," Connor nodded. "Don'cha worry, Roc. We'll do this guy righ and ye'll feel a lot better."

After learning about this monster I couldn't touch the rest of the food, neither could the others, by the look of it. I cleaned up, placing the left over's into the refrigerator. Yawning I moved into the living room collapsing on the couch. We'd be leaving for wherever this guy lived in the morning so it was going to be an early night.

I felt Murph and Connor settle in around me, while Rocco went into one of the back bedrooms. I honestly tried to sleep but my mind wouldn't settle. I kept thinking about that family that Rocco had talked about. What had the mobster done? Why did this guy involve children and the wife. Hell, what the fuck did the dog do? This was one man that I'd be happy to rid the world of.

_This felt amazing, I didn't even remember the last time I had the time or patience for a bath. The water was hot and every muscle in my body was relaxed. I yawned as I sunk lower into the warm, soapy water. _

_"Calmi giù. Ciò non danneggierà un bi" (Calm down. This won't hurt a bit.)" A voice reverberated through the tranquil atmosphere._

_Just like that my body tensed, water sloshing around the tub as I looked for the person the voice belonged to. This couldn't be happening he had found me again. That deep voice, the emotionless gray eyes. In the terror of the moment, of someone grabbing me around the waist when I was going back to my flat, I neglected to realize that he wasn't speaking English. My rapist spoke to me in Italian._

_"Focus, Allison, ye need ta focus," Uncle Sibeal scolded._

_But he wasn't there, there was no one else in the bathroom. _

_"Jus don't look down," Uncle Sibeal stated. "Please, Ally, ye don' need ta be lookin down."_

_Why couldn't I look down? The second I looked at what use to be bath water, I screamed. What I was laying in wasn't water. I flung myself from the tub backing up against the wall. It was blood, or water tinged with blood. It was all over the room, it was all over me. It was on my hands._

_"You were in a right state when you arrived," The nurse had told me. I had send the intake pictures there wasn't a surface that wasn't covered in blood. My eyes, staring at the camera lacked their normal vibrancy. A right state, indeed._

_With a sudden surge, I rocketed away, scrambling off the couch and into the bathroom. I was awake but there was still blood everywhere. I grabbed a wash cloth and began to scrub cleaning my hands and forearms but it wouldn't come off._

_"The blood really never comes off. It doesn't matter how much you scrub."_

"Allison!" Connor shouted. "Listen ta Connor now. It's jus a dream."

"Oh, Jaysus," I whimpered pulling myself up to lean back against the couch cushions looking at Conn and Murph who were crouched in front of me on either side.

"Wot was dat about?" Murphy asked.

"I'm startin ta remember," I whispered.

"Remember?" Murphy questioned.

Connor realized what the meaning of my statement first, his brows slamming down under suddenly thunderous blue eyes. He smacked Murph in the chest and raised one eyebrow. When Murphy finally realized, a split second later I laughed, ruffling his hair. He glared at me slapping at my hand.

"Hey, are you guys ready to…" Rocco began to say, his statement trailing off as he came into the living room, looking at the three of us. "What'd I miss?"

"Nothin," I said. "We heading out?"

"It's about an hours drive to his fancy ass neighborhood," Rocco shrugged.

"Then let's go," Connor shrugged.

I could feel Connor's gaze on me as I put my boots on and grabbed the guns from the counter, placing them all in the duffel bag along with their clips. I grabbed my rosary from the table, putting it around my neck, under my clothes. Two minutes later, Murphy and Connor were ready to go as we shrugging into their coats.

We didn't take the Lincoln because we couldn't risk it being indentified. Instead we, or rather Rocco, took a commercial van with a seat built into the back. We didn't ask were Rocco got the van, personally, I didn't want to know. I settled into the back seat with Murphy as Connor and Rocco drove up front. Directly across from Murph and I was a counter top where the duffel bag was sitting.

It was a long and boring drive to the center of some random suburb. It was an obviously Upper Middle Class neighborhood, the houses were extravagant, the lawns were flawless; the kind of place none of us could ever afford. Or really, want to live in. Primary surveillance of the area, told us that Mr. Serial Killer in the Making, had a happy little family. A stereotypical housewife and a little boy; who couldn't be more than eight. I told the guys as much, laughing when Connor and Murphy rounded on Rocco.

"Why didn' ye tell us 'e had a kid?" Connor snapped.

"I didn't think something like tha could reproduce," Rocco shuddered.

We waited for a half hour, watching the kid take off on a bike. Even in the seriousness of the moment, clicking bullets into clips, putting the clips into the guns, I laughed. I was the only one who didn't have to hunch over. Connor could tell why I was laughing, elbowing me lightly in the stomach.

"Get a 'old o' yerself," Connor scolded.

"Okay are we ready ta bring this man inta the light?" Murphy asked us. "Are we ready ta truly do tha work of tha Lord?"

"A-fuckin'-men!" Connor whooped, cocking his pistol.

"This is so fuckin' cool," Rocco grinned.

We leapt out of the van, creeping over to the house. The kid had left the garage door open a crack, Murphy and Connor lifted it up and we all walked into the garage, shutting the door behind us. There we pulled off our coats, snapped our holsters on and placing the guns where they belonged. We put our coats back on, pulling on our leather gloves and masks before making our way into the house.

We found Ms. Stepford in the kitchen, making sandwiches. Just as she moved to scream, Rocco lunged clapping a hand over her mouth and threatening to kill her. When she settled down he put duct taped her hands and her mouth.

"You know why we're here," He growled.

She nodded tearfully, as Rocco with the wife's assistance led us out of the back. It was a perfect backyard, in ground swimming pool, white picket fence, Beaver Cleaverville. As she walked I saw another small house, a pool house. Wow, these people were loaded. The door was lined with steel and looked like it only opened from the inside, there was a number pad next to the door. We stopped in front of the door pulling out our guns and switching the safety off.

"Enter the code," Rocco ordered.

The woman was clearly terrified, and I felt my heart wrench when she whimpered.

"Don't fuck with me lady, I'll kill you," Rocco warned.

"'Er fuckin hands are taped," Connor snapped, shoving at Rocco. Murphy shook his head as he pulled out this giant knife, cutting the tape off her hands.

She slowly punched in the number before she could alert anyone to the fact that we were there, Rocco zapped her with a stun gun. She fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Why do I always gotta be on bitch detail?" Rocco complained.

Our guns were raised as I spared a glance at Rocco, cuffing him upside the head as the door began to open. Connor kicked it the rest of the way in as we rushed inside, standing in a row.

"All of them," Rocco said.

Before anyone could react, we started firing. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. No one really had a chance to draw their weapon before they were gunned down. Blood flew and chests blew open as bodies fell to the floor. We forced our way in, Connor, Murphy, and I shooting straight ahead while Rocco got in front of us, dropping to his knees to shot the mobsters who had ducked under the pool table.

Everyone was dead within seconds. With the bullets no longer flying it was completely silent so much so that it was almost painful. We pulled off our mask and jackets before we began to pick up all the bullet casings. Rocco, on the other hand, was going around to look at the bodies.

"Shit," Rocco mumbled before jumping up and down. "Shit! He ain't here."

"Wot tha fuck do you mean 'e isn't here?" Murphy demanded.

"I mean he ain't here," Rocco rolled his eyes.

"Look again, fer fucks sake!" Connor snapped, gathering up the last of the casings.

"I know what the fuck he looks like," Rocco retorted.

"Roc, behind you!" I shouted as the back door began to open.

Rocco stuck his hand into the door firing the gun. But something smacked into his hand causing him to drop his gun. The man we obviously came for stood in the threshold of the door, staring at Rocco. He had been shot in the stomach but that didn't stop him from running after Rocco.

"Oh, shit!" Rocco yelped. "Shoot this motherfucker!"

Murphy moved quickly his hands wrapping around the man's waist trying to get him away from Rocco. But just as Murphy had disentangled the man's grip, Connor yanked him back by the collar.

"No," Connor scolded, his arm had wrapped around Murphy's wrist, knocking him to the ground. "Let the bloke go. Let 'im go. Now's yer chance to earn yer stripes, Roc.

I stared at Connor in horror before looking towards Roc, who was slowly going red as he clawed at the guy's hands, currently manacled around his throat.

"He's gonna kill 'im!" Murphy snapped, rising to his feet.

"It was yer idea ta bring 'im in," Connor growled. "Alright, Roc, now's yer chance. Ye take that man."

"Come on, Roc, ye can do it." Murphy and I called.

Murphy and I were becoming more anxious, as Connor stood his ground, watching the scene unfold. My gaze shifted as I noticed someone begin to stir, luckily Connor's attention shifted as well. He turned to shoot the person who had regained consciousness. As Connor fired another shot, Murphy moved quickly, grabbing a cue ball and rolling it across the floor. Rocco's hand curled around it and smacked the man in the temple. As Rocco rose to his feet, he continued to slam the cue ball against the mobster's head. Well, I guess that was just as it good as a gun only messier.

"Alrigh' then," Connor smirked.

"Fuck you!" Rocco growled rushing at Connor. "You fuckin…"

I winced as Connor used Roc's momentum against him throwing him onto the pool table. That move hurt and I knew from experience that it left you breathless with your back aching. Ma had been pissed, we kept breaking the coffee table pulling moves like that.

"Now take a fuckin deep breathe there, Roc," Connor stated, firmly. "Ye did fine. It was nicely done."

Before Rocco could say a world, Connor covered Roc's mouth with his hand, kissing the back of it. He turned around grabbing a bag of pennies, handing some to Murphy and I. As Rocco got his breath back, we walked around placing pennies on each eye and crossing the arms of the bodies. When that was done, we put our coats back on, grabbing our duffel bags before heading out of the pool house and back into the real house. Walking through the hallways, Murphy, Connor, and I put our sunglasses on as Rocco led us into the front yard.

I ran into Rocco's back as he jerked to a stop. My brother's tensed beside me as I struggled to see what was going on. A lot of things happened at once. Murphy and Connor instantly pulled out a gun each resting the arm holding the weapon on Rocco's shoulders. Sensing danger in the air, I pulled out my guns, flicking off the safety, ready for anything, or so I thought. With the sudden explosion of bullets, Rocco fell to his knees, showing me for the first time that was responsible for this. A man maybe in his mid or late sixties stood before us, wearing a vest that held six guns in little pockets. Two of which were currently in his black gloved hand. He had a cigar in his mouth, white hair, and a white beard, wearing a hat, sunglasses, and trench coat.

This was no time for hesitation and thankfully, that was something I didn't do as I fired as quickly as I could. Rocco was slow to start, and when he finally pulled his gun he only got a shot to, before he was suddenly hit, blood splattered against the house and me. Rocco fell to the side and into the bushes. I wanted to see if he was okay but with the speed that this man was firing I couldn't afford to be distracted. There was wood from the house splintering as it was decimated with bullets. In turn the Taurus that the man was in front of was gone. The glass was broken and it was riddled with bullet blasts, hopefully the owner had insurance.

I flinched when a bullet caught Murphy in the arm. With a curse he dove to the bushes closest to him, landing hard but continuing to fire. I yelped when a bullet caught my shoulder sending me smashing into the house from the speed of it. My head cracked against the door, I slumped against it. Connor shifted so that he was hiding me from view as I continued to fire at the old man, who had moved ten steps to his fight.

It was down to him and Connor and no body backed down. Suddenly one of Connor's bullets finally connect, catching the man in the arm, causing him to drop one of his guns. Sending it amongst all the casings and other guns. The man pulled out his last two guns, firing them with a vengeance as we all returned fire. Just as the man runs out of bullets, he catches Connor in the upper thigh, sending him stumbling slightly.

Just when I thought that the old man would take this time to end us all, he had run out of bullets. He turned and ran, leaving a sea of casings and guns that extended half way down the street. Two giant bloodstains marked where he once stood.

"Murph, ya alright?" Connor shouted.

"Mother fucker!" He yelled still firing after the old man's retreating form.

"Ally!" Connor shouted. "Roc! Roc, get the fucking bags! Get the blood."

We pulled out small spray bottles of ammonia, spraying any patch of blood we could. When we were sure we covered everything

"Let's fuckin go!" Connor screamed.

Rocco having grabbed the bags raced off towards the van, with the three of us at his heels. The boys piled into the back as I threw myself into the front seat, wincing as searing agony shot through my shoulder. I gunned the engine racing off back towards Southie.

"Roc, keep yer hand above yer heart," Connor ordered from the back. "Ye too, Murph."

I glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing Rocco do what Connor ordered as Connor stripped off his belt, looping it around Murphy's bicep before cinching it tightly. Murphy, hissed out a breath before standing shakily to his feet. He, too pulled his belt from it's loops, wrapping it around Connor's thigh before pulling it tight.

"Ye alright, Ally?" Murphy asked.

"Aye," I said.

I gasped when he suddenly appeared next to me, helping my out of my jacket. I bit down hard on my lip when he found the gun shot wound, and ripped the shirt that was covering it. Just when I thought that things couldn't get more painful, Murphy found a towel or an extra shirt and pressed down on the wound, frowning.

"Connor, the bullet's still in there," Murphy sighed, as he dropped into the passenger seat.

"Fuckin' hell," Connor mumbled.

The drive felt like eternity but we actually made better time on the way back. We had ditched the van about seven blocks from the apartment. Walking through the streets wasn't enjoyable as Murphy and I, once again, had to support Connor between us. Everyone was hurting and pissed about what had happened.

When we finally burst through the front door things hit the fan. I left the three to go looking for the iron, coiling the cord so it wouldn't catch fire as I put it on the stove. I shook my head as they began to argue.

"Who tha fuck was 'e, Rocco?" Connor snapped. "I know ye know!"

"Fuck you!" Rocco retorted. "I never saw him before!"

"Well, 'e sure as fuck knew ye!" Murphy growled.

"Fuck you both," Rocco sneered. "Ya ask me, he was aiming at you!"

They continued to scream at each other, pushing and shoving, as they walked into the kitchen.

"Shut tha fuck up!" I yelled over them. "Jaysus Christ."

They all stared at me, wide-eyed but it had the desired outcome they all stopped talking.

"Murph, get on tha table," I ordered. "Roc, Conn, keep 'im still."

I didn't have to look to see that they were listening to me. By the time I turned around iron in hand, Murphy was laying stomach down on the table, a wadded up pillow case in his mouth. Rocco was sitting on his back, while Connor was holding his opposite hand. Lucky for Murphy it was his left arm that had gotten hit, leaving his dominant hand unscathed.

"I'm sorry, Murph," I whispered.

I wrapped my hand around his free hand before placing the iron over the wound. Murphy's hand squeezed mine as he began to thrash, the pillow muffling the worst of his screams. His eyes were closed tightly as he struggled to stay still. Thirty seconds later and Murphy lay slumped against the table. I placed the iron back on the stove, before I wrapped area I just burned.

Rocco went next the arm that held his injured finger as he knelt on the ground, Connor standing behind him, keeping the pillow firmly settled in his mouth. Murphy was the one who cauterized Rocco's finger and I winced. I felt bad that Rocco had his finger blown off.

I don't think Rocco really knew what he was getting himself into. He was taken with the idea of what we did and not the reality of it. The reality of one day we might not all come back. That having wounds cauterized would someday be the least of our problems. Only I don't think Rocco had ever had first aid quite like this before.

I forced the idea of someday one of us weren't going to make it out of this as the guys switched places, Rocco holding the iron after some instructions from Murphy. Connor's back was against Murphy's chest. The pillow case was in Connor's mouth, Murphy's hands holding it in place. When they were finished wrapping up each other's wounds they turned to look at me and I winced.

"Roc, I need a shot glass, vodka, and tweezers," Connor ordered.

"Come on," Murphy prodded, coming around to my side and leading me to the table.

Grimacing I sat on the edge before leaning back. I watched, upside down, as Rocco came back into the kitchen carrying what Connor requested. Connor took the items placing them next to me. After Connor washed his hands he came back to my side, pouring some vodka into the shot glass and giving me the bottle. I took a few sips before I lay back on the table. Connor took a seat by my head, supporting his injured leg with another chair.

The next few minutes were agony as Connor moved around with the tweezers before finally finding the bullet and pulling it out, dropping it into the waiting shot glass. I was suddenly so exhausted but it still wasn't over yet. I groaned when I felt someone holding down my legs and Murphy came into my field of vision holding down on of my arms.

When the iron made it's appearance I groaned as Connor gripped my opposite hand tightly before bringing the iron down on the wound. This just wasn't my week, I had been shot twice and both times it had been bad enough for the iron to come into play. When Connor pulled the iron off, I sighed in relief. Sure, it still hurt but a least it was over. Murphy and Connor each grabbed a hand, pulling me off the table.

I collapsed on to one of the chairs as Murphy went and grabbed some beer from the refrigerator before taking the seat next to me. Connor sat in the chair next to Murphy, using the extra chair to prop his injured leg up. It was quiet as we drank out beers and watched TV. When it turned to the news, we didn't bother to change it, content with just sitting there.

"Oh, shite," Connor mumbled.

I looked to Connor who was staring at the TV, when I looked again I saw Smecker on the news saying that he was heading up the investigation.

"What?" Rocco asked looking at the TV, "What, that guy?"

"Dat's tha guy dat got us off the hook wit tha 'Checkov' thing," Murphy explained.

"And 'e is one smart man," Connor replied.

"They got nothin'," Rocco huffed.

"This guy is very sharp," Connor shook his head "If 'e hasn' figured us out yet, he will."

"Well I'd say that makes him a lia-fuckin-bility."

"'E isn' ta be touched," Connor said after we exchanged looks.

"'E's a good man," Murphy stated.

"Okay," Rocco shrugged. "Whatever."

I watched as Rocco then looked around the room, a frown marring his features. "Oh man, my grandma's gonna kill me."

I took the time to look around the kitchen, wincing at the overflowing trash can filled with take-out containers. There were beer cans everywhere and if that wasn't bad enough, there was blood everywhere. On the counter top, in the sink, on the stove, and all over the table and the floor surrounding it. Hopefully Grandma Rocco wouldn't come home early because this place looked like a war zone.

I waited until the guys had gone to sleep before I began to clean the kitchen. I brought the trash to the bins outside along with all the cans. I then found bleach, a bucket, and brush. I poured some bleach in the bucket before filling it the rest of the way with water. I went around the kitchen and front entrance making sure that there were no traces of blood. That was the last thing Rocco's grandmother needed to come home to. Bad enough we were crashing there without permission. I figured I might as well take advantage of the fact that the woman had washing machines, washing my clothes along with the guys, and our jackets.

The next morning came bright and early, entirely too early. I felt like I had just fallen asleep when I was jostled awake by either Connor or Murphy. By the time I opened my eyes, they were in the next room.

"Come on, Ally, we gotta get ta church," Connor shouted from the next room.

"Aye, I 'eard ya tha ferst time," I muttered. "Jaysus."

"Did ye wash our jackets?" Murphy asked

"Aye, there was blood all over them," I replied taking the cup of coffee from his hand.

It was only Murphy that I ever stole coffee from. Connor liked his coffee straight while Murphy took his with cream and sugar, the same way I liked it.

"Hey, get yer own," Murphy grumbled stealing his coffee cup back. "Ya always gotta nick mine."

"Like you don't take mine if I'm up before ye," I responded.

Murphy wrinkled his nose at me, rolling his eyes as I stood to my feet. I used the hair tie that I kept on my wrist to put my hair up into a bun. I put my jacket on as the four of us moved to go to church. Rocco wasn't religious but after last night I think we all just wanted to stay together.

When we arrived at the church we poured out of the car. Connor, Murphy and I moved to go into the church as Rocco called for Murphy, making us pause in our movement.

"Hey, Murph," Rocco called. "This early morning church shit's gotta go."

"We 'ave ta go in tha mornin, "Murphy laughed, smacking his cheek. "We're on tha lamb now."

"See ya later, Roc," I smiled walking into church ahead of my brothers.

I slid into the back pew, not having to open my eyes to know that Murphy slid in next to me followed by Connor. The three of us on the prayer kneeler completely silent as we prayed.


	7. Everything You Thought You Knew

_**Author's Note: I've edited the prior chapters. I've added some things and made a few changes the first of which instead of Con it's now Conn. And instead of 'Tha' to show 'that' it's now 'dat'. Tha is now the. and Wot is What. I hope that's not confusing for anyone. Also thank you for all the reviews, keep them coming. You guys are awesome! Also, there are character concepts up on my profile.  
**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Seven: Everything You Thought You Knew**

_"Never shall innocent blood be shed. Yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river…we will flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. The three shall spread their blackened wings and be the vengeful striking hammer of God. And shepherds we shall be, for thee, my Lord for thee, power hath descended forth from thy hand that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command,"_ I thought.

The church was quiet, as it always was when Mass wasn't going. I loved it when it was quiet like this: tranquil and peaceful. The one place where I could go for reflection. There were few places where I felt safer, more grounded both within my faith, my religion, and the company I kept. Murph and I were kneeling on the prayer bench only a few centimeters apart, each of us lost in our own thoughts and prayers.

I leaned back on my heels, my eyes springing open as I eyed my surroundings. Where exactly had Connor disappeared? For someone who constantly accused me of sneaking up on people, he could certainly be quiet when he wanted to. Neither Murph nor I stirred as he had wandered away. I looked to my side to see Murphy's head bent close to his hands as he prayed. But, Connor wasn't where he use to be.

"Where'd Connor go?" I whispered, nudging Murph with my elbow.

"Confession?" Murphy guessed.

That seemed as good of a suggestion as any, although, he normally didn't just leave without a word. Murphy seemed content that everything was fine but I couldn't get past the niggling feeling that there was something going on. Something the two of us had missed by being lost in thoughts and prayers.

"Ya ready?" Murphy asked, rising to his feet.

"Aye," I sighed.

Murphy and I got up and walked towards the confessionals, content to wait until Connor came out. It was normal for us to wait for one another as we each confessed before we went home. It was something that we had done since we were children and a tradition that had yet to break. Murph and I sat down in the front pew glancing around the church as we waited for Connor to come out. When he did, nearly ten minute later, he came out with his gun, a scowl on his face as his eyes glinted dangerously as he spared us a glance, placing his gun in the back of his jeans. I got up as did Murph, the two of us approaching Connor who looked like he could kill someone. Before I could ask a question, the middle booth, the Priest's booth opened. Instead of one of the Father's Rocco walked out looking mighty proud of himself. Connor turned, hands on his hips, glaring at Rocco who smiled sheepishly.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," Rocco giggled.

Connor's glare intensified as he smacked Roc on the back of the head before kicking him in the ass, propelling him towards the door.

"Wot the fuck is tha supposed ta mean?" Murphy demanded to no one in particular.

"Let's fuckin go," Connor growled.

"Or ye could not tell us wot the fuck is goin on," Murphy muttered. "Dat's fine."

I laughed as Murphy's scowl grew deeper and Rocco continued to giggle. He glowered at me before following after Conn and Roc. Pushing out of the church and into the sunny morning, we paused putting our sunglasses on as we looked up and down the block before walking in the opposite direction of the car. It bothered me more than I cared to admit that the man who had ambushed us at Mr. Serial Killer's house still walked the streets, no doubt looking for us. The only difference was now he was pissed. I saw the two sizable bloodstains on the road; we had gotten him as good as he had gotten the lot of us.

Despite the fact that our attacker had been wearing sunglasses, I had no trouble imagining a crazed look in his eyes as he fired on us. The Italian's had obviously brought in outside assistance otherwise; Rocco would've recognized the guy. I shook my head as I followed Connor, who seemed to know where he was going, even if the rest of us didn't. We were about seven blocks away from the church when he paused in front of the pay phone.

Leaning against the pay phone, he put some change in as he pulled a card from his pocket. His fingers drummed on top of the phone as we waited for the person on the other side to answer. I looked past Connor's finger tips and saw that he was holding Agent Smecker's business card, the same one he had given to Doc all those days ago.

I turned to look at Murphy who was teasing Rocco about the fact hat he hadn't adjusted to losing one of his pinkies. Rocco offered us the pack of cigarettes, with Murphy and I taking one before Rocco took one for himself, fumbling with his lighter. I finally took pity on the poor man, snagging it out of his fingertips and holding open the flame for him. Once Rocco's cigarette was lit, I closed the lighter, handing it back to Rocco, only to have it intercepted by Murph who lightly tapped the bandaged appendage. Roc shook his hand before shoving at Murphy, laughing.

"Well, the light caught the side o' his face fer a second. And it looked like he had a gray beard," Connor told Smecker. "Maybe late fifties, early sixties."

Murphy and I exchanged glances as Connor spoke. Who would've thought that the outsider who had been called by the mob would a senior citizen? A senior citizen with a damn good shot.

"I think it's better if we find this man before he finds us again," Connor stated, his gaze meeting Murphy's and mine. "We're goin ta hit Poppa Joe tonight, right in the comfort o' his own 'ome. Then we're movin on to New York. It's gettin a bit hot fer us 'ere."

If Murphy or Rocco were surprised by Connor's announcement of us hitting Poppa Joe tonight, they didn't show it. It made sense to strike before Poppa Joe could figure out that Rocco wasn't dead and that he had been getting help. Well, help for something's, we would've never gone into one of the busiest delis in Southie and opened fired in broad daylight. Not even was it normally busy it was one of the mob's best fronts. Only Roc would be crazy enough to kill everyone in there before fleeing the scene.

It was hard to imagine that not even two weeks ago we were living normal lives. I was a bartender, Conn and Murph worked at a Meat Packing Plant, and Roc worked for the mob. Who knew one little bar fight would change so much.

"I'll call you tonight, afterwards," Connor replied before hanging up the phone.

"Feel like it's still there," Rocco complained, eyeing his hand in confusion.

"Yeah, but it's not," Connor rolled his eyes, moving between Rocco and Murphy walking back towards the car.

We didn't go back to Grandma Rocco's house because she was supposed to come back today. Instead we went to the next best place _The Office_. It was almost as if Van knew we were coming because the front and back doors to the back were locked and the closed sign was still on the front door. We unlocked the door and walked into the bar, using the counter top to spread out the weapons. They had already been cleaned but one could never be too careful. There was a lot riding on tonight. If we killed Poppa Joe the Italian mob's stronghold on the east coast could topple. It would effectively cut the head of a serpent, leaving the underlings scrambling to fix the damage.

When the front door suddenly flew open we reacted instinctively, if it had been a few weeks ago we wouldn't have batted an eye, hell it was quite the normal occurrence for people to come and go regardless of what time it was. Now a days was a different story, things had changed and we had to be ready for anything. Even though we wore masks there still could be some fall back, since they had already identified Rocco. They would know how Rocco associated with as well as his habits, creating quite the uneasy situation.

"Whoa!" Van gasped as he came face to face with three guns and one knife. He looked at the knife, imbedded once again in the door, scowling before leveling me with a look that would put Ma to shame. "Ally, I swear ta Christ if ya throw one more fuckin knife at me, I'll trounce ya good."

"'Ow was I supposed ta know dat ye were tha one who banged through tha door?" I shrugged. "And it's okay fer 'em ta shove guns in yer face?"

"Ferst it's me bar and second, notice ye're the only one who threw something, the guns 'aven't fired," Van rolled his eyes. "And wot tha 'ell is all this? Ya shake down an armory?"

"Meet our new job," I smirked. I snickered at Van's dumbstruck look and Connor's reproachful glare.

"I can understand killing those Russian fucks, they attacked ya, but now yer just gunnin after every mob member?"

"It's actually anyone they think is evil," Rocco corrected.

This time Murph, Conn, and I turned around to give Rocco a silencing look.

"Anyone ye three think is evil?" Van questioned raising an eyebrow.

"We were called," Murphy explained.

"Ye were called," Van repeated. "Called by who?"

"God," Connor said.

"We're not crazy, Van," I said.

"I know," Van shook his head. "I know. It's just a lot ta take in, alright?"

"It tis, innit?" Murph, Conn, and I agreed.

I laughed at the look Rocco threw to us on that one. I had to admit it was a rare occurrence when the three of us said things at the same time. While it happened, I don't remember if it ever happened in front of Rocco. It happened in front of Van, though, who didn't even bat an eye as he walked behind the bar's counter pulling out a bottle of Hennessy and five shot glasses. He quickly poured the liquid into the waiting shot glasses, sliding it over to us.

"The four o' ye betta be comin back in one piece, aye?" Van growled. "Sláinte."

"Sláinte," We repeated before shooting the fiery liquid back, wincing at the burn before savoring the warmth that followed.

After the toast we talked for a bit, Roc, Murph, Conn, and I took turns taking showers. It was nice to be clean and change into clean clothing. Murph, Conn, I wore a variation of the same thing, a black turtleneck, to hide the tattoo of the Virgin Mary on our necks and the Celtic cross on our forearms. We also wore dark wash jeans and construction boots. I grabbed my shoulder holster, looping it around my back and placing my guns in the two holders. I had an extra clips in my pocket and a few knives tied to a trigger in my sleeve. The trigger would enable them to shoot out within a seconds notice, and into my hopefully waiting fingers. My hair was still wet as I sat in the bar, waiting for the boys to come back in. Van sat down across from me, a thousand questions in his gaze.

"Ya don' 'ave ta do this," Van finally said.

"I do," I corrected. "God chose us, Van and even if he didn' choose me, I wouldn' leave Conn and Murph alone in something like this. I couldn' live with meself if they got 'urt and I wasn' there."

"This is unbelievable," Van sighed.

"Aye," I agreed. "I still can' believe it. But we're doin good stuff 'ere. We're keeping evil people off tha streets."

"Ye nervous?" Van whispered.

"I am," I grimaced.

"Ally, come on, we gotta get goin," Rocco prodded.

I glanced over my shoulder to see the lads waiting anxiously by the door. I stood to my feet hugging Van before running over to them. It was an a half hour before sunset and we were on our way to Poppa Joe's mansion. The idea was to strike hard and fast and leave him reeling. Who would expect us to attack him in the comfort of his own home? We parked the car about five blocks from the house. The neighborhood made Mr. Serial Killer's neighborhood look like a Hooverville. The property was sprawling, encircled by a tall iron fence, security cameras every few feet.

As the boys scouted the area I took a running start to the iron fence, jumping about half way up and quickly scaling my way to the top, dropping soundlessly on the other side. Seconds later, Murphy and Connor landed on either side of me as we watched Rocco struggle for a moment or two before he too landed on he right side of the fence. We pulled on our gloves and put our masks over our heads, so at the present moment, it looked like a simple cloth cap. We made our way quickly made our way to the house, avoiding the cameras as we found a basement window. I sank to the ground to look in the basement. After deeming that the coast was clear, I checked to see if the window was unlocked, it was.

It was the kind of window that came out on a hinge; luckily it opened all the way up so that we could all slid through. Connor went through the window first, quickly followed by Murphy, and then Rocco. I dropped in landing low on my feet as I pulled my guns out of the holster's switching the safety off. Conn, Murph, and I knelt down to the floor saying a quick prayer before crossing ourselves. When we got back to our feet we moved quietly out of the door. There were three people milling around in the hallway, three people that were shot within seconds before they even knew what hit them.

A few more people were sent to meet their maker as we walked around the sizable basement. It wasn't even really a basement; it had a few rooms and a winding hallway. Things were going well, until we opened a green door. The next few minutes was a blur of bullets and punches before we were all subdued, beaten severely and each handcuffed to a chair. Blood dripped from a cut on my forehead and chin. The handcuffs around my wrist were to tight, effortlessly cutting into my already scarred wrists. It didn't stop me or the guys from shouting obscenities at the top of our lungs and thrashing within the handcuffs. We were frequently rewarded with more punches but that didn't stop us fighting.

"Now, what on earth is going on here?" A deep, commanding, heavy Italian accented voice growled.

"Sir," One of the enforcers startled.

They all spun around to address he tall, slightly plump man now standing in the middle of the room. His eyes were so brown they were almost black, with silver, gray hair. He was wearing a designer suit and was eyeing the scene with a mixture of curiosity and reversion.

"Mr. Yakavetta," Another mob member began. "We didn't know that you would be coming in from New York."

"Of course you wouldn't, Malone," The man rolled his eyes. "A fucking messenger boy is knocking off our guys with ease, threatening to topple our entire organization and you don't think I'd make the trip up to see how things are going?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Malone whispered.

"Now where is my brother?" The man growled.

"Joe's upstairs, sir," Malone said. "We found them sneaking into the house, armed to the teeth."

"Then, why don't you go get him?" The man rolled his eyes.

Malone rushed up stairs, leaving Yakavetta's brother and four enforcers with us. I exchanged glances with Murphy and Connor. We had no idea that Poppa Joe had a brother. I don't think Rocco knew either. The newcomer quickly closed the distance between us and him to look us over.

"I was informed that it was one person killing our guys?" Yakavetta growled, his voice silky smooth, with a layer of menace in the tone.

"We thought it was Rocco, sir," Another one replied. "This one." At this he pointed to Rocco. "I don't know who these three are."

I attempted to pull my face away as fingers suddenly came into my vision going under my chin to pick my head up.

"I never thought I'd see this beautiful face again," The man laughed. "You're supposed to be dead, Belina." (Beautiful)

"_Calmi giù. Ciò non danneggierà un bi" (Calm down. This won't hurt a bit.)" A voice reverberated in my mind's eye, releasing a flood of memories within its wake._

"You," I spat. "Ya son of a bitch! I'll fuckin kill ya!"

My head snapped to the side as a sharp sting stung my cheek. I could see Connor and Murphy's face, bloody and twisted in outrage. They had all been beaten awfully, Rocco only slightly worse for wear.

"That's not very nice," He chided. "And here I thought you were a professional, young lady. Don't you remember the weapons conference in Liverpool? That magical night?"

It felt like he had hit me again as everything from that night became crystal clear and assaulting my mind, the memories springing into the forefront. How strangely cool the night was. The sudden footsteps behind me right before I was grabbed from behind. A heavy Italian accent accusing me of being a tease, wearing heels and a skirt slightly lower then mid-thigh. Telling me how I had been flirting with him all day.

It was the weapons manufacturer from Rome. A very successful business, supplying friendly forces and if rumors were correct, the highest bidders on the black market. It made sense that he could be the financial backer for the east coast mob. Lorenzo. I had not heard his last name during the conference but now it was clear: Lorenzo Yakavetta, who apparently not only ran a 'legal' business but also ran the New York mob.

I glared up into Lorenzo's face before I spat on the ground in front of him, getting slapped again for my efforts. Before anyone could move, the basement door opened once more, Poppa Joe darkening the threshold. With the sudden appearance of Poppa Joe, the noise exploded with us screaming and the enforcers throwing punches. Lorenzo stood back to stand next to his brother.

"Calmi, Calmi," Poppa Joe soothed, a highly polished gun in his hand. He stood along side his brother staring at me in confusion before he grinned menacingly at Rocco.

Without even a word, Rocco's hands were uncuffed, two men holding his open hand us as Joe raised the pistol to the base of his remaining pinky finger. The other enforcers were holding Conn, Murph, and I down as we continued to fight, thrashing and hissing.

"Roc!" Connor shouted. "Roc, look at me!"

"Look at 'im!" Murphy barked.

"You gonna tell me what's going on here?" Joe yelled. "Huh? You little fuck! Give me some answers."

"Fuck off!" We all yelled, receiving blows for the unhelpful answer.

I looked over to Rocco, who was holding out information but he looked terrified as Joe glared down at him. Joe sneered at Rocco before firing, blood splattered over Connor's face as Rocco screamed and howled, cursing and struggling as he was recuffed to the chair. The desperation suddenly outweighed everything else in the room as I tried to get out of the handcuffs, realizing the only way out was to break my thumb, terrific.

"Roc, Roc!" Connor yelled. "Look at me! Ye're gonna be fine."

"We're gonna get outta this, Roc," I whispered.

I flinched at the look in Rocco's eyes as he turned to me. There was nothing in those pools of hazel. The mischievous spark that use to remind me so much of Murph was gone. There wasn't even seriousness in his gaze, just nothing. Defeat, that was the only thing I saw within those normally expressive eyes. Despite the expressionless gaze he still sobbed as both Yakavetta's and the enforcers left us alone, shutting the door behind them. The large room managed to be both painfully silent and frighteningly loud. Rocco's sobs echoed around the room, cutting me to the core. None of us said a word, each attempting to get out of the too tight handcuffs. The air felt thick and then it felt like I was suffocating on it, unable to get a full lungful of air. The door opened once more, but this time only Joe entered. He barely paused in his movements as he held the gun aloft in Rocco's direction.

Nothing slowed Joe's movements though. The shot was loud, louder than any other gunshot as the force of it knocked Rocco to his back. The bullet had caught him in the chest. Joe didn't spare anyone a glance as he turned on his heel, closing the door after him. Murphy had hopped with his chair attempting to get to Joe but the door closed before he could. We were crying no, over and over, praying that he'd be okay.

"God!" Connor prayed.

"No!" Murphy and I screamed. "Roc! No!"

"Roc, Roc!" Connor sobbed. "Nooo! Roc! Roc! No, Roc!"

Connor and I remained seated as Murphy knocked his chair to the floor, scooting to be closer to Rocco. Roc's breathing was labored and the scent of blood was now overwhelming. Tears ran down my face, mingling with the blood on my face, running onto my shirt as I looked over at Rocco. How could things face gone so wrong, so fast? I sobbed, as did Connor and Murphy as Rocco struggled to talk.

"Y-you guys?" Rocco rasped.

"We're here, brother," Connor cried.

"You gotta keep going," Rocco whispered.

"We'll keep going," Murphy sobbed.

"You'll make it out of here," Rocco replied, attempting a smile only we could see the blood on his teeth. He coughed, choking on his own blood. "You can't ever stop, don't ever stop.

"Never, Roc," I whimpered. "Never."

I watched unable to do a thing as Rocco's body shuddered, breathing its last breath before all movement stopped. It was as if we had only been holding on by a thread before and Rocco's death was all it took for us to break. I watched as Connor sobbed thrashing in his seat. Murphy was rolling around on the floor, promising death for every mob member in the house and I was just stunned. I sobbed and bawled, shaking and trembling trying to get out of the handcuff.

"Roc! No! Roc! Noooo! You mother fuckers!" Connor screamed.

"No! I'm gonna kill them all!" Murphy sobbed thrashing in the chair, burying his face in Rocco's neck, his body shuddering with sobs.

They're all goin ta die," I promised, by declaration broken up by heavy sobbing. "I'll kill 'im. Kill 'em all."

A rage, like I had never before experienced thrummed through my veins sending me screaming, and sobbing, twisting my hands in the cuff, easily ripping through the fragile skin around my wrist. Before we could even attempt to figure out how to get out of this mess, the door opened once more. Instead of Poppa Joe it was Lorenzo, he walked straight towards me, kneeling between my spread legs, a startlingly familiar smirk flashing across his features.

"I always regretted killing you, you were so feisty," Lorenzo confessed. "Or at least I did when I thought you were dead. How lucky am I that you're still alive and much more docile than the last time we met."

"Get tha fuck away from me," I hissed.

He smacked me again, hard enough for spots to dance in front of my eyes as the handcuffs suddenly fell away. I was ripped from the chair, standing on shaking knees as I was dragged out of the room, leaving my brothers behind.

"You're responsible for this," Lorenzo told me, bringing me into one of the other rooms in the basement. "Their blood's one your hands."

I was barely listening to Lorenzo, my mind back with my brothers and Rocco. My brothers weren't going to die, I'd make sure of it. I failed Rocco but I wouldn't fail Connor or Murphy. With a jolt I realized that when the enforcers had taken our weapons, they hadn't taken my knives. A sudden grin crossed my features; it was about time I had something work out. Lorenzo failed to notice my look as he kissed me with bruising force. With him distracted, I shook my sleeves, wincing as the knives cut into my palms as I caught them. Before he could even lean back I made my move, cutting him across the face and kicking him away.

Lorenzo's back hit the opposite wall as he clutched his face. Two angry cuts ran deeply from his cheek to his nose, bleeding profusely. Before he could recover, I leapt at him grabbing his head between my hands and slamming it as hard as I could against the wall before bringing my knee into his stomach. When he crumbled to the ground I kicked him as hard as I could in the face, breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious. I was going to kill him after all this time I finally had come face to face with my rapist and now I could kill him. He was a bad man and god only knows how many other women's lives he had torn apart.

Before I could even move to deal the deathblow, I heard a sudden gunshot. My heart jumped into my throat as I left the room running back into where my brother's were still being held. Relief flooded through me as I noticed that Murphy and Connor were out of their binds and killing one of the enforcers. Unlike any other hit we ever preformed there was nothing merciful about these killings. The other times they men were dead within seconds but the person in front of my brothers had suffered, this was revenge pure and simple, he was still a bad man, though and now he was a dead bad man. No matter what, we'd never kill innocents. Murphy stooped down grabbing the man's guns and handing one to Connor.

We glanced at one another, wincing at what we found. We all looked horrible, our eyes rimmed red, clothing torn and covered in blood. Murphy and Connor walked over to Rocco, picking his chair up and placing it upright. I pulled two pennies out of my pocket, handing it to my brothers who lay them gently on Rocco's closed eyes. Together we all knelt down in front of Rocco, after removing the handcuffs from his wrist and ankles. We paused for a moment before bowing our heads.

"And shepherds we shall be, for thee my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from thy hand," We whispered, our voices trembling together with barely suppressed grief.

From all the noise from before, things were near silent, quiet enough so that we could hear the click that a gun's safety made. I tensed up as Connor and Murphy whirled around guns at the ready. I turned as well to see who we would be killing. It was the man from the shoot out. He had cleaned up slightly from the last time we saw him, but he still wore the glasses, hat, trench coat, and black leather gloves.

Before either Connor or Murphy could shot him he moved hands held out to his sides, placing his cigar back in his mouth and praying, "That our feet may swiftly carry out thy command," As he began to say the family prayer, we exchanged quick glances as they lowered their own guns.

"We shall flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti," He prayed coming to stand in front of us crossing Rocco before he looked down at the three of us.

I found my own words, once addressed to Rocco was suddenly thrown back in my face. You had to be family to know that prayer. This man was our father. The man who vanished shortly after the three of us were born. Ma and Uncle Sibeal never really said a word against him, saying how out of character his disappearance was.

I was still resentful of the man who I never had the opportunity to call Da. While Ma had never really said anything all that negative about him, I knew that he made her cry. My Ma was fearless, as far as I was concerned. She let people know what was on her mind, and kept the three of us in line with relative ease. She yelled, and ranted but the only time I ever saw her cry was when I was about eight. My brother's had gone to sleep, something I should've been doing but I was going to get a glass of water. Sitting at the kitchen table was Ma, a bottle of Hennessy at her side, face in her hands, shoulder's shaking with sobs.

When she had fallen asleep from all the alcohol I snuck in to look at the picture. It was of her standing near a tall man with neatly trimmed hair, Ma's pregnant belly stuck out proudly as both Ma and the man I assumed was Da smiled at the camera, no cares in the world. What had happened between this picture and our birth?

His leather-covered palms came to rest on Murphy and Connor's cheeks, smiling proudly at them. He tilted up Connor's head before he did the same to Murphy. It was quiet as we just looked at one another. I couldn't believe after all this, we were finally in the presence of our father and I had no idea what to say.

A few seconds later he pulled his hands away only to rest one hand on my cheek. I looked over at Connor and Murphy to see the same shocked expression written all over their faces. After twenty-five years we had finally met our father. Granted the first time we met, we were trying to kill each other. Meeting my father should've been great. I had always wondered why he left and Ma and Uncle Sibeal hadn't been exactly forthcoming with that information. But after finding out all the forgotten details about my rape and Rocco's death, and almost being raped again it was just too much.

Feeling Da's hand on the side of my face made me realize how the adrenaline I got from hearing the gunshots was fading quickly leaving me with a possible concussion. I was just so tired and I knew by the slump of Connor and Murphy's shoulder's that they were tired too. The last thing I remembered was staring up at my Da before everything went black.

The next time I woke up, I no longer was covered in blood and was wearing a tank top and sweatpants. Yawning, I got up on my elbows and glanced at my surroundings. We weren't at Poppa Joe's anymore but we weren't anywhere else I recognized. I turned and saw Connor and Murphy sleeping on either side of me. I gently scooted to the front of the bed before I got to my feet, stumbling as I glanced around the small one bedroom apartment.

"Mornin' Lass," Da greeted from the coffee table a cup of tea in between his hands.

"Good Mornin'," I replied.

"How ya feelin'?" Da questioned. "Ye had a fairly bad knock ta the head and ye out fer quite awhile."

"'M alright," I sighed. "Where are we?"

"New York," Da said. "Boston's not tha place ta be right now."

"Aye," I nodded, folding my arms over my chest.

"Sit down, Lass," Da ordered. "Ye're pale."

I sat down on the other side of my father looking at him before looking at the ground and around the small apartment. It was small and only had the essentials of an oven, refrigerator, and kitchen table a small couch and a television.

"Ye look jus' like yer Ma," Dad said suddenly.

"Thank ye," I whispered, suddenly wishing that I hadn't left the room that my brother's were sleeping in.

I realized as my father and I sat there that we had gotten his eyes and nose. When Connor and Murphy stumbled in nearly thirty minutes later. Their hair was ruffled from sleep and although they were cleaned up cuts and bruises were all over their bodies. I could see the bruises on their arms and faces as they dropped down across from me. My eyes met Conn and Murph's the three of us having a silent conversation. Along the lines of if we were okay as that question moved from one person to the other our responses were the same. No.

A lump suddenly appeared in my throat as tears stung my eyes. Rocco was dead and we weren't in Boston anymore. Rocco was dead and we couldn't do anything to stop it. I'd never be able to hear him get riled up; I'd never hear his politically incorrect jokes or his colorful language. No, I'd never see him again and it was all our fault. We had gotten him killed. We never should've let him join us. If we hadn't Roc would still be alive. We had come face to face with what exactly this life could bring us: loss and pain, unbearable loss and pain.


	8. Suffocating Under Words of Sorrow

**Chapter Eight: Suffocating Under Words of Sorrow**

**Two Weeks Later**

New York was as different from Southie as a city could get. Instead of an underlying feeling of camaraderie there was a cold indifference. As long as someone wasn't directly affected by what was happened, it was of no concern to them. New York City's underworld was also so much darker than Boston's. I had made the mistake of walking in Washington Square Park at night and was nearly mugged. At least, it would've been a successful mugging if I hadn't had a gun on me. The encounter had come out in my favor, leaving New York with one less scumbag.

For the first time since my brother's and I had reunited two months ago, we were apart. Not so much physically, as we all shared the same apartment with our father but mentally and emotionally. We couldn't sever the bond we shared but, we could do our best to ignore its' existence, which was what we were doing. Still reeling over the death of Rocco, and the guilt that still plagued every thought, turning every happy memory sour. I think the only reason why we separated from one another was because it was harder seeing one another struggling with pain than feeling it ourselves.

I had slid through the same heavy doors I had been sliding through every day since we had first come to New York. St. Patrick's Old Cathedral reminded me of St. Peter's in Boston. While the Father's didn't know me, they smiled whenever they saw me, kneeling down on the prayer kneeler on the back pew. My rosary firmly gripped in my hand my head bent to the ground.

This was the one place in the city where I could cry and no one would bother me. The one place where my brother's wouldn't realize how hard I was fighting to keep my composure. I felt selfish for feeling this lost about Rocco's death when I had only known him for a few months. Conn and Murph had known Roc for years, one of their first friends off the boat. I had to be strong for them. I couldn't let them know how much I missed Rocco, the person I had come to expect to see daily.

Sure, Rocco was reckless, and maybe he was a little too excited about what we were doing but he had heart. With the proper guidance maybe we'd have made him into quite the partner but Poppa Joe had taken him away from us. In my mind's eyes I watched, over and over again, as Poppa Joe walked in and shot Rocco in the chest, with no expression on the other man's face. It was almost like he could've been doing the dishes or paying his bills. Killing Rocco had meant nothing to him. Or, at the moment, it meant nothing to him. Poppa Joe would come to regret his decision.

By the time I stopped crying, my eyes were bloodshot and swollen as I rose to my feet, crossing myself before walking out of the Cathedral. I put my sunglasses over my eyes flipping the collar of my pea coat up as I began the trek back to the two-bedroom apartment. We had moved in just this week with the aid of Agent Smecker and a rather generous donation from the aforementioned along with a nice chunk of the money we had taken from the Copley Plaza hit.

"Ye're gettin ta be mighty predictable, Lass," A voice chided as the man fell in step beside me.

"I don' know wot ye're talkin about," I replied, eyeing my father with a hint of anger.

I was getting to know my father more and more everyday and the more I learned, the more I realized that a lot of our mannerisms were from him, despite not even meeting the man in our formative years. He had the same soothing presence that Connor had, with Murphy's temper and my sneakiness. I had to admit that it was rather annoying to have a trait such as that thrown back at you.

"Lyin's a sin, Allison," Da reproached lightly. "Now, can ye tell me why yer goin ta church every fuckin day?"

"Just comin ta pray," I shrugged.

A hand on my bicep stopped me my movements, turning me to face my father, Noah MacManus or Il Duce, as he was known on the streets. He pulled my sunglasses off my face, compassion on his gaze as he brushed a tear away with his thumb.

"Ya don' need ta be ashamed o' yer feelings, lass," Da sighed. "Tis 'ow ya know ye're still alive."

"Rocco was their friend," I mumbled.

"He was yers as well," Da said. "Ya know ye three remind me of Sibeal, Patrick, and I. We all felt the calling in different ways. Sibeal became a Priest, I became an assassin, and Patrick became a cop. Despite our differing paths we came together on a job or two. We were never more strong than when we were together."

I nodded my head in agreement as Da continued, "I notice that ye three are keeping yer distance from one another. But, ye don' need ta do dat, Mo Chroí. (my heart) Yer bro'ther's wouldn' want ya ta hide yer feelings. Ye three need each o'ther now more than ever."

"Aye," I whispered.

"Come on, Darlin', let's go home," Da prodded, leading me in the direction of our apartment.

I followed obediently after my father, my feet following mindlessly down the streets and up the stairs until I was back in the apartment. Da walked into the kitchen while I wandered into the living room, planting myself in front of the telly. I pulled my knees up to my chest as I zoned out, not really listening to the TV or even watching it until the jingle for breaking news sounded, echoing around the living room.

"This is a Fox five news exclusive," The news anchor began. "Four more bodies were found in Washington Square Park this morning, bringing the recent surge of murders to thirty. While the names have yet to be released to the media, we have been informed that they have been ritualized with pennies in the eyes. Many know this to be the calling card of the Saints of South Boston. Questions are mounting in the Manhattan area, all asking the same thing: are the Saints walking among us? This has been a fox five news exclusive."

As the news came on, Conn and Murph had found their way home, dropping onto the couch on either side of me. It had been completely obvious that the Saints were in New York City, and the three of us had been doing our own part to keep the streets of New York safe. No one said a word as another program came on.

I got up off of the couch and walked into the bedroom that I was sharing with Connor and Murphy. Instead of sitting on one of the three beds, I opened the window, crawling out onto the fire escape, listening to the sounds of the city. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the window was flung open and someone crawled out, sitting next to me.

"Ye're 'avin' nightmares again," Murphy noted as he held out a cigarette for me, already lit.

"Aye," I grimaced.

The nightmares were always the same now a days. I also dreamt about the rape first and foremost, before it inevitably led to Poppa Joe's basement watching Rocco get shot over and over again. Sometimes Connor or Murphy or both were shot as well. Those nightmares were the one's that woke me up, a sob caught in my throat, unable to sleep for the rest of the night.

"Ye're also not talkin' much," Murphy said.

"'Ave nothin' ta say, I guess," I shrugged.

"Seems like ya got plenty ta say," Murphy disagreed. "How many o' tha thirty were yers?"

"Ten," I replied.

"Ya shouldn' do stuff like dat by yerself," Murphy scolded. "Ya can get hurt."

"Are Connor and ye killin people together?" I questioned

Murphy's hesitation answered my question as he took a hearty drag on his cigarette.

"Ya know ya can talk ta us," Murphy whispered a few minutes later, flicking the cigarette over the side, watching it tumble end over end to the ground below.

"I got nothin' ta say," I repeated. I winced as the answer came out more defensive than I wanted.

"Aye," Murphy agreed. "I miss 'im too."

"Murph," I whimpered. "Please."

"We hear ya at night ya know," Murphy told me. "Hear ya calling out ta 'im, callin for us. When's tha last time ya slept?"

"Ya don' need ta worry about me," I shook my head.

I climbed back into the room pretending I didn't hear Murphy's response of, "Aye, I do. Ye and Connor both."

**One Week Later**

"Hello, this is Sally McBride, with a Fox Five news exclusive," A short blonde woman, dressed in a tan dress suit. "It has become apparent that New York City's criminal's are in danger. The Saints of South Boston have taken up a new residence in Manhattan. There has been no outcry for the apprehension of these individuals; in fact signs like this one urging them to keep going have popped up all over the city. Nearly forty criminals of various gang and mob affiliation have already lost their lives: who'll be next?"

"Thank you, Sally," The news desk anchor replied before turning to a different camera. "In other news Poppa Joe Yakavetta has been arrested on thirteen counts of murder, conspiracy to commit murder, racketeering, obstruction of justice and extortion. We will air further details as they become available."

I had been sitting with Connor, Murphy, and Da when the news had come on. Now that we had found out that Poppa Joe had been arrested, I wondered what we were going to do. As it was we had kept the NYPD pretty busy. We had dismantled entire gangs and put some fairly large dents in the Italian, Irish, and Russian mob.

I stood to my feet pulling my jacket and rosary on before walking out of the door of our apartment. I made my way to St. Peter's. I slid through the heavy double doors like clockwork. At this point I could find my way here blindfolded. In the back pew, I dropped to my knees, tears pouring down my cheeks as I buried my face in my hands. I don't know how long I stayed on the back pew, crying quietly. It felt like no time had passed as I wiped my eyes.

"And shepherds we shall be, for thee my Lord for thee, power hath descended forth from thy hand that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command…" I whispered the same prayer I always said before I left any church.

I failed to notice that I was no longer alone until two figures dropped on either side of me. I knew without opening my eyes that it was my brothers. That was confirmed when two deeper voices joined my own wrapping up the prayer, "And we shall flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."

I opened my eyes to see two swirling pools of sapphire, identical to my own staring me down. I got off my knees, following Murphy outside; the three of us paused in our movements to light a cigarette before I turned to look at them.

I blew out some smoke as I realized that despite the distance and grief that surrounded us at the moment, we hadn't changed. The tattoos we had all gotten on our eighteenth birthdays still adorned our index fingers, neck, and forearms. Murphy still had 'Aequitas' on his right index finger while Connor had Veritas on his left. The three of us had the same Celtic cross on our arms. My cross as well as Murphy 's were on our right arms and Connor's was on his left. On the index finger of my right ands were 'Parilitas', Latin for 'equality'.

As our cigarettes burned down to the filter we stared at one another. How could things manage to be exactly the same and completely different? There was also no hiding the fact that I had been crying my eyes out minutes before. I could nearly see my eyes, like I was in front of a mirror: rimmed red and swollen, making my eyes even more blue as a result, my nose red as well.

"I miss 'im," I found myself saying suddenly. My eyes once again bright with unshed tears.

"We miss Roc too," Connor whispered.

Within an instant I found myself cradled in between Connor and Murphy. Each of their faces was buried in a shoulder as their arms wrapped around me and each other. Tears came quickly after that, soaking the cotton of Connor's shirt. My hands were fisted the fabric as they both hugged me tighter. I could feel their tears on my shoulders as we continued to take comfort in one another's presence.

I don't know how long we stood outside the Cathedral. By the time our tears had dried the sun was beginning to set. Da was probably wondering where we were. Together we turned walking in the direction of the apartment. I took comfort in the fact that I was sandwiched between Conn and Murph. Normally we walked in age order: Conn, Murph, and I. We also sat at church the same way, recently though it had been me in the middle instead of Murphy. I shook my head as I dug in my pockets for my carton of cigarettes and my lighter. I pulled out three, stuffing the box back in my pocket as I lit three of them, handing two to my brothers. They took them offering a small smile.

The grief we felt at losing Rocco was still there but for the first time in a while, it wasn't overwhelming. We ground out the cigarettes before entering the lift in our apartment building. We took the lift to the seventh floor, walking to 15B. Entering the apartment, we found Da in front of the television watching the news again.

"Agent Smecker called while ye three were out," Da called as we walked into the living room. "'E said dat Joe's goin ta trail next month."

"Aye?" Connor responded

"'E said dat it would be a perfect time ta show 'im the light," Da stated.

"Smecker wants us ta kill Joe in open court?" I asked.

"It's a good fuckin' idea," Murphy shrugged. "Make an example outta 'im."

"Aye," Connor grinned.

"In four weeks time, we'll head back up ta Boston," Da commanded. "Reveal our existence to the world."

"Ye don' think that fifty seven murders aren't enough?" I asked. "I think they already know we exist."

"We're like an Urban Legend righ' now," Da shook his head. "Somethin' dat mobsters will tell their children ta scare 'em."

I held my hands out in acceptance as I sat down on the couch. It wasn't that Poppa Joe didn't deserve to die, as far as I was concerned he signed his death sentence the second he had shot Rocco. I was more apprehensive about the public execution that Da and Agent Smecker were talking about. Even with the aid of a federal agent, there was bound to be fall out from that. After a meal of pizza and some random Charlie Bronson movie, Da rose to his feet and looked at the three of us, an affectionate grin tugging at his lips before he moved down the hallway towards his bedroom.

Within the few weeks that we had known our father, he had quickly stepped into the role that had been missing all our lives. Uncle Sibeal and Uncle Patrick had been there for us but they had their own families, their own kids who raised enough hell without having to worry about we three. Da had managed to be both commanding but know when to back off. It was almost like he had been there our entire lives. He knew when we were fighting for real and when we were just wrestling. He just knew who we were, which lead me to believe that either Sibeal or Patrick were keeping him up to date on what we looked like and how we acted. Neither Connor nor Murphy nor I had yet to question where he had been for the past twenty-five years. We just accepted that he was here now, here when we needed him the most.

Things weren't the way they were before Rocco died but they were slowly getting back to normal. The Saints were back in force, more mob members died but Murphy, Connor, and I worked together, the way we should've been the entire time. Whenever we killed mob members, it required planning. Sometimes I would lure would be muggers and rapists to where my brothers lurked, never too far away. Those were the kind of executions that were done nightly. I always took a bit more satisfaction taking rapists off the street. I figured that it was the least that I could do as long as Lorenzo Yakavetta was still breathing.

On the night before we were set to head back to New York we all ended up in the room I shared with Connor and Murphy. Da rested in an arm chair leaning back and smoking a cigar. I lounged on Connor's bed he was angled on his side, turned towards Da and Murph.

"'Ow far are we gonna take this, Da?" Connor asked curiously.

"Tha question is not 'ow far," Da corrected. "The question is do ya possess tha constitution, tha depth o' faith ta go as far as is needed?"

Did I have the depth of faith to go as needed? I was religious, of course. I always prayed when we were going through hard times but how many people were going to die? Evil men, dead men; that was what Connor had told Rocco. That day felt like years ago and I didn't know what to do Evil men, dead men; it sounded so simple but we were walking the razor's edge, the only thing that kept us on the side of light was the fact that this mission was ordained by God.

God had given us permission to kill evil men: men who murdered, raped, and stole. But, I felt still felt guilty. We killed evil people but we were still killing him. Whosoever shed man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed. That was what we were doing but how long before we were killed a result of our calling? Rocco had already died, would one of us be next?

"Wot are ya thinkin about?" Connor whispered as we began to pack up our duffel bags.

"This whole thing is jus' confusin, is all," I shrugged.

"'Ow?" Connor questioned. "Evil men, dead men."

"Aye," I agreed. "We're still killin people, Conn."

"Bad people, Ally," Connor reasoned, abandoning his duffel bags to stand by me, his hand warm on the back of my neck. "We would never hurt an innocent person. They made their choice and it's our job to keep them away from innocent people. Destroy all, which is evil, so that which is good may flourish. Even our tattoos proclaim our calling: truth, justice, equality."

As Connor's words broke through my mental blocks I realized the truth in what he said. They had made their choice, a choice to directly harm others in order to advance. We don't hurt innocent people and we never would. We would protect them. I smiled at Connor, laying my head on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around my waist, his chin on top of my head.

"Are ye ready for this, my dear sister?" Connor questioned.

"Aye," I smiled.

The car ride back to Boston wasn't exactly tense but it wasn't exactly pleasant either. Conn, Murph, and I were to keyed up while Da was as composed as always, driving the car. We drove to the first motel within city limits, getting a room far away from the others. We dropped our stuff off in the room getting everything prepped for later. All the guns were clean and we had more bullets than we needed.

After we had eaten a quick meal, Greenly and Duffy came to pick us up in a police truck. One that was normally used for escorting prisoners. We climbed into the back of the van with our duffel bags and holsters. It was a quick ride to the Suffolk County Courthouse where Poppa Joe's trial was taking place.

When we arrived at the courthouse, Greenly opened the doors, saying that he'd tap on the door when he got the signal from Smecker. We grabbed our guns out of the duffel bags, loading the guns with ease. We pulled our masks on as Da put on his dark hat on glasses. When Greenly knocked on the door we went to move, when Da held us back. We looked back and watched as he slowly removed his hat and glasses. With a glance at one another we pulled off our masks.

We walked through the courthouse, tossing our guns over the metal detector and catching it on the other side. Once we were all through the detector we made our way across the marble lobby and up the steps.

"Due to lack of hard evidence…" Judge Washington began.

With a nod from Smecker, we burst through the court room door. Gasps of horror reached my ears as my brothers jumped the media pit, ordering that cameras be shut off and left where they were.

"All media ta tha back!" Da ordered sharply. "Drop the cameras! Drop 'em!"

It was a blur of movement as the media rushed to do what Da had ordered. Connor and Murphy moved quickly, pulling Yakavetta from the witness' booth by his jacket lapels. They dropped him to his knees in front of the occupants of the courtroom. After the judge had been shoved to the back, and the security officers had been stripped of their weapons we turned to face the courthouse. Connor and Murphy stood behind Yakavetta, guns to the back of his head.

"You people!" Da began loudly. "'Ave been chosen ta reveal our existence ta tha world. You will witness what happens here today and you will tell of it later! All eyes ta tha front."

"Fuckin' do something!" Yakavetta backed towards his men.

"Shut yer fuckin' mouth!" Connor barked as Murphy's foot connected sharply with his back before grabbing him back to his former position on his knees.

I watched as Da gently whispered something to a young woman who had her head down, crying into her hands. He tilted her chin up, whatever he said calmed her down as she watched the scene. Just like we had planned it, Duffy pulled the fire alarm to get bystanders out of the court house. Connor and Murphy came out from behind Yakavetta, jumping on the lawyers' table. Murphy was on the prosecution side, Connor on the defense. Da had taken their place behind Yakavetta's head with me directly behind him, standing on the desk behind both Da and Poppa Joe. All of had our guns extended keeping people where we wanted them: in the room.

"Now ye will receive us!" Connor shouted over the fire alarm.

"We do not want yer poor or yer hungry," Murphy stated.

"We do not want yer tired and sick," I called behind them.

"It is yer corrupt we claim!" Connor continued.

It was at times like this where our triplet senses came in handy. A speech like this hadn't been planned. We were informing the people here today why this was happened. Each knowing instinctively what the other would say. It reminded me of that night in Rocco's apartment where we explained to him why we were doing what we were doing. Why people like us existed in the world.

"It is yer evil who will be sought by us!" Murphy vowed.

"With every breath we will hunt 'em down," I growled.

"Each day we will spill their blood," Connor promised. "Till it rains down from tha skies!"

"Do not kill, do not rape, do not steal," Murphy explained.

These are principles which every man o' every faith can embrace," I said eyeing the media in the back, staring at us horrified.

"These are not polite suggestions," Connor barked.

"These are codes o' behavior and those dat ignore 'em will pay tha dearest cost," Murphy snapped, pointing towards Yakavetta.

"There are varying degrees o' evil," I began pointing over to the other mob members. "We urge ye lesser forms o' filth; not ta push tha bounds and cross over inta true corruption…inta our domain."

"Fer if ye do, there will come a day when you look behind ye and ye see we four," Connor declared. "And on that day ye will reap it!"

"And we will send ye ta whatever God ye wish," Murphy smiled.

At this Murphy and Connor leapt off the tables, joining Da behind Poppa Joe. I stayed behind the three of them, keeping my guns extended. It was more so directed towards the mob members, than to the victim's families who were watching the scene with a mixture of revulsion and grim satisfaction. When we had first entered the court room, Poppa Joe was going to get off on all charges, again. Our charges tended to stick. I knew that if the mobsters had guns they would've used them by now. I also realized that Lorenzo was absent, but their mother was not. Huh, that was interesting.

"And shepherds we shall be," We prayed. "For thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from thy hand that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command. And we will flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be."

"In nomine Patris," Da intoned

"Et Filii," Connor hissed

"Et Spiritus Sancti," Murphy growled.

As soon as the prayer was finished Da and my brothers pulled the trigger. People screamed, rushing out of the courtroom as Poppa Joe's lifeless corpse crumbled to the ground. Connor and Murphy rolled him over placing pennies in the empty eye sockets. Agent Smecker walked in as Conn and Murph turned each offering a hand to help me down from the desk that I was somehow able to jump on to.

We quickly changed out of our street clothing and into prison blues. Our hands and feet were shackled and then bound to one another as Smecker pulled bags over our heads, leading us through the back hallway and back out to the van. Somewhere along the way Duffy came, walking behind us, dressed in a Warden uniform, holding a rifle. Only when we were loaded into the van, were our hands and feet freed and the blindfolds removed.

I knelt down as the van began to move, taking Connor and Murphy's hand, while they grabbed Da's so we were joined together.

"Hail Mary, full of grace," I began before the others quickly joined in. "Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art though among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

"Where are they fuckin takin us?" Murphy demanded nearly an hour later.

"Home," I responded. "We're goin home."


	9. Fuel to the Fire

_**Author's Note: Just as a clarification, I've never been to Ireland but I've researched a lot and have taken liberties but if there's any blaring it-would-never-ever-happen errors please tell me. Also, italics will almost always be used as either flashbacks or dream sequences. Happy Reading! ~Beccatdemon13**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Nine: ****Fuel to the Fire **

"We shoulda called ferst," I muttered as Connor knocked on our front door.

The three of us crowded on the front porch, our bags dropped around our feet as we took in our surroundings. It was nearly five in the morning and we were exhausted. It had taken two connecting flights to get back home. But in the end it was worth it, we were home. And all I wanted to do was sleep for hours.

"Perhaps," Connor laughed.

"Wot tha 'ell are ya doin on me doorstep at five in the fuckin…" Ma's angry rant trailed off as the front door opened.

"Hi Ma," Murphy smirked.

Ma's mouth fell open in shock before she maneuvered all of us into a bone-breaking embrace. She let us go only to hug us one at a time, holding our face in her hands as she examined us, making sure we were okay.

"Are ye three outta yer goddamn minds?" Ma demanded after a moment. "Ya 'aven't called me in weeks and suddenly yer in Ireland?"

"We thought we'd surprise ya, Ma," Connor smiled.

"Don'tcha lie ta me, Connor Owen MacManus," Ma growled. "Somethin' is goin on and I want ta know wot."

With smacks to the back of the head she had ushered us inside, saying something about tea. At least that was until she had saw Da. She stopped midsentence gaping at him as Da crossed the threshold of the front door, shutting it behind him.

"Noah," Ma breathed.

"Belle," Da smiled.

"I ought ta give ye another hole ta breath through," Ma growled, her hands planted on her hips as she glared at Da. "Where tha fuck 'ave ya been fer twenty-three years?"

"Jail," Da sighed.

My eyes widened at that and I could feel Connor and Murphy mirroring me as we stared at Da in shock. I had jumped to the conclusion that Da had gone to the states to continue his calling and maybe he had. Maybe he had gotten caught. Well, that was most likely what had happened, but I couldn't imagine someone as skilled as Da getting arrested. Let alone stay in prison for twenty three years.

"Yer ass has been rotting away in a jail cell?" Ma snapped. "Did ya forget dat ya had three bairns waitin fer ya at home?"

"O'course not, Belle," Da chided. "I had Patrick and Sibeal keepin me updated on all o' ya."

"Those sneaky bastards," Ma snarled lowly. "And ye're lucky dat ye got those bro'ther's of yers. They had their own families ta care fer and they took on our expenses no questions asked. Whenever I couldn't make enough money as it was I was raising these three by meself! They weren't easy either, makes you, Sibeal, and Patrick seem like Saints."

"I'm sorry, Annabelle," Da whispered moving closer to her. "I would never leave ya if I had the choice. It was one last job and it cost me everything. I lost the chance to watch 'em grow up, the chance to make a bigger family wit' ye. Ta do everythin we wanted ta do."

Ma lost her anger at that point melting into Da's embrace. Taking that as our queue to give them some privacy, Connor, Murphy and I moved out of the living room/front entrance to explore the house. We carefully avoided the random creaking floorboard; remembering where they were, even after all this time, expertly weaving around them to avoid distracting Ma and Da from their reunion.

The house hadn't changed at all. The room I shared with my brother's hadn't changed. Three beds and dressers all over the place; Connor's bed was under one of the windows, his dresser right next to his bed. Murphy's was in the middle of the room, and mine was the furthest away from the door. My dresser was across from my bed while Murphy's dresser was crammed right next to mine. Our bookshelf was still there; the one Connor and Murphy had broken in our freshmen year of secondary school. Murphy had shoved Connor into it; causing the books and various other things we had thrown onto it in passing to come tumbling around the two of them.

The feeling of safety and tranquility that came with being home still existed but it paled in comparison to what I had witnessed, nothing took away the emptiness I felt. Da had said that it was the aftermath of the rape: the fact that I could now identify my rapist made it so I could begin the healing process. But, that wasn't the only reason why I felt so empty. The calling was now a living, breathing entity inside my body. It wanted us to do what we had been called to do. It begged and pleaded for release; for action but we couldn't risk it. We had made a promise to Rocco, at the same time we had promised Smecker that we'd lay low and fall off the radar.

We couldn't even watch the news anymore. Everyday came more headlines about crime rates surging in New York City and Boston. There were even sudden surges in Philadelphia and Baltimore, and other cities we hadn't hit yet. The crime underworld of both Boston and New York City was quickly repairing itself and there was nothing we could do to stop it. That prospect made my blood boil and my body demand action to do something other than hide.

Bringing our bags upstairs, Conn, Murph, and I quickly collapsed into our beds. It was a testament to how tired we felt that we were able to fall asleep as soon as our heads hit our pillows. We slept until late afternoon, at least, which was probably a mixture of exhaustion and jet lag. I threw my legs over the side of my bed, stretching sluggishly as I moved to grab my duffel bag. I quickly changed into clean jeans and an old sweatshirt of Murph's. My brothers' were still fast asleep as I quietly slipped out of the room.

I stood out in the middle of the field, feeling the breeze and smelling the clean air. I pulled out a carton of cigarettes, placing one between my lips before lighting it. Smoke filled my lungs before I exhaled a steady stream of smoke. Watching the sheep grazing in the fields down a ways from the house brought a smile to my face. I watched our border collie's moving around, making sure that the sheep stayed together. I could see two figures on horses keeping a watchful eye over everything. I wanted to wave at them but I doubt they'd see me from that far away.

The MacManus family was a large one. We had settled within blocks of one another, keeping our family close. It helped that my cousins, brother's, and I were all close in age. The oldest were Uncle Sibeal's twin boys: Liam and Ryan. Finn, Kennedy, and Brendan, Uncle Pat's oldest were next, quickly followed by Connor, Murphy, and I. Rowan, Uncle Patrick's only girl along with Devin (Uncle Sibeal's daughter) were also our age. It was funny that there was at least one set of multiples in each section of the family. Uncle Patrick had told us that it had been that way in the MacManus family since it had started, it just ran in our DNA. The other thing that was common was our electric blue eyes. The only people who didn't have the MacManus blue eye were Brendan and Rowan, whose eyes were a dark emerald color.

The other similarity had nothing to do with genetics. It was more of a code, really. Since we were tots we had been told to watch out for one another. Frequently that lesson was broken down into immediate family sub-groups: Connor, Murphy, and I. Liam, Ryan, and Devin. Finn, Kennedy, Brendan, and Rowan. While there were divisions to the lesson, it wasn't odd to have one jump to another's aid.

Devin, Rowan, and I often worked at The Anvil, helping out Uncle Sibeal. Whenever we worked our cousins or brothers, respectfully, weren't far making sure that people minded their manners and kept their hands to themselves. That protective nature extended to the other waitresses and bartenders of the female persuasion.

"What are ya doin out 'ere?" Connor asked.

"Jus' thinkin'," I shrugged.

"Ya shouldn' do dat," Murphy smirked. "Ye're no good at it."

"Oh, shut it, Murph," I laughed.

"Is dat a smile I see?" Connor grinned.

"Nice," I shook my head. "Gang up on tha girl."

"Aye," Connor and Murphy agreed, causing me to roll my eyes. Some things would never change.

"Is dat Liam and Ryan?" Murphy questioned suddenly as the figures on the horses began to approach.

"I do believe it is." Connor grinned.

"Now wot do we 'ave 'ere," Liam smirked, hopping down from his horse.

Their light brown hair was shorter than I remembered but their eyes still held the same mischievous gleam. That was another thing we all seemed to share. I squealed when arms wrapped around me seconds before I felt a presence behind me.

"Ally MacManus, as I live and breath!" Ryan whooped throwing me in the air only to catch me 'round the waist so we were looking eye to eye."

"Put tha lass down, ya daft twit," Liam chided.

With a loud laugh Ryan placed me back on my feet hugging me close before pushing me into Liam's arms. I heard Connor and Murphy greeting Ryan, clapping one another on the back and chattering in Gaelic. We talked about the States and asked about what we had missed here. We found out that while The Anvil was still Uncle Sibeal's bar but he had signed co-ownership over to Devin.

"I can' believe ye three are home," Liam smirked.

"It's about fuckin' time," Ryan responded.

"Connor!" Ma shouted. "Murphy! Ally! Get yer asses in 'ere before ya catch yer deaths."

I looked around surprised to see that sun was setting and it was getting to be rather cold outside. Nodding at Liam and Ryan, I fell into step with Connor and Murphy as we walked back to the house. We were halfway there when Liam and Ryan fell back into step with us after putting the horses in the barn.

"Wot do ya want fer dinner?" Ma asked. "I 'ave leftover stew. I 'ave bacon and cabbage, and there's soda bread and barmbrack as well."

"Dat's a lot o' food, Ma," I pointed out. "I thought ya didn' know we were comin."

"It's always good to stock up on food, m'dear," Ma replied. "Help yerselves, ya gotta be hungry."

I smiled as I grabbed a slice of barmbrack, taking a bite before ladling Connor and Murphy a bowl of stew before pouring myself some. We sat at the kitchen table taking in our surroundings. We had eaten in this room every day of our childhood, with the exception of some holidays that were celebrated at our cousin's house.

"We should go ta the Anvil," Murphy suggested as he quickly drained his soup.

"Good idea," I agreed.

"Aye," Connor smiled.

Da joined us halfway through our meal, holding a cup of tea in his hands. He sat on the typically empty head of the table. The one that had always been left empty, with the sometimes exception of Uncle Sibeal or Uncle Patrick. As Ma slid into the chair opposite Da, things felt complete in a way they hadn't ever felt before.

"Wot are ye three up ta tonight?" Ma asked, a few minutes later.

"We're thinkin o' headin over ta tha Anvil," Connor shrugged.

"Dat's a good idea," Ma smiled.

Within the hour we were all on our way to the Anvil. Instead of driving we walked. The sun had just set and the stars were beginning to blanket the sky. It was nights like this that made me miss home the most. Although, it was normally only Conn, Murph, and I walking to and from the Anvil. Sometimes our cousins joined us along the way but most of the time we met them at the Anvil.

The smoke was the first thing that hit me as I pushed open the front door. Noise and the faint scent of alcohol hit soon after, bringing a smile to my face. I felt Murphy and Connor on either side, closer than normal. This was very much, our families bar but at the same time the pub was available to anyone. There were as many familiar faces as strange ones, causing my brother's to be more on guard than normal. While I very much appreciated their protection, I wasn't without my own. I may have surrendered the trigger system for my knives, but I still carried at least one.

Connor, Murphy, and I had buried our guns, all the money we made taken, and even our rosaries, anything that could remind us of our calling any more than we already remembered. The wooden rosaries had been replaced by sterling silver ones that we had gotten for our communion. In addition to the silver, and the Celtic knot work, it was interspersed with black beads, a striking contrast.

"Ally!" A hyper feminine voice squeaked. "Oh, me god! Conn, Murph. I can' believe yer all back!"

"'Ello Rowan," I laughed as I was nearly tackled by my overzealous blonde cousin's hug. "It's good ta see ya."

"It's good ta see ye three," Rowan smiled after hugging Connor and Murphy. "When'd ya get in?"

"Early this mornin," I answered.

"Wot brings ye back?" Rowan asked.

"It's a long story, Ro," I sighed. "Trust me, ya don' wanna know."

"Let me guess, Trioblóid," Rowan smirked. "Ye three found trouble? Can' say I'm surprised."

"We're not tha only ones apparently," I scoffed, noting my cousins scrapped knuckles. "Scrappin?"

"Aye," Rowan grinned. "Guinness?"

"Do ya even 'ave ta ask," Murphy laughed.

We all walked over to the bar, where Rowan hopped behind the counter and quickly poured four glasses of Guinness. We toasted each other before quickly draining the beer.

"Do ya remember Fergal Cavanaugh?" Rowan questioned.

"Aye," I frowned.

"He's knee deep in the IRA," Rowan whispered. "A lot has changed."

"Or not," Connor disagreed. "Fergal was always a asshole."

"Aye," Murphy sneered.

I didn't have to look at either one of my brothers to confirm the snarl that had to be present on each of their faces; that was the face of disgust and anger based on events long passed.

_**November 13, 1990**_

"_Ally, will ye please jus' talk ta me?" Fergal Cavanaugh_ _pleaded as I cleared off tables at the Anvil. _

"_I'm workin," I replied shortly._

"_Ally, please," Fergal complained. "It came out wrong. I didn' mean ta."_

"_Yes, ya did, Fergal," I snapped. "Ya told me that unless you get some of this." I then gestured obscenely at my body. "Then ye'd break up wit' me."_

"_It was a joke," Fergal growled._

"_Ya said it in front of our entire fuckin' gym class, ye daft twit!" I snarled. "Get away from me. I'm fuckin' workin."_

"_There a problem here?" Uncle Sibeal asked. Giving a stern look towards Fergal before eyeing me in concern._

"_No," I replied. "Fergal was just leavin', aye?"_

"_Ally," Fergal attempted once more._

"_I'm tryin ta be polite," I whispered. "Get out or I'll call me bro'ther's over here and 'ave 'em escort ya out."_

"_Ye always go cryin ta yer bro'thers," Fergal sneered._

_Fergal and I had been dating for about two months and it had been relatively smooth sailing until this afternoon. My eyes narrowed at the taller boy. Everyone knew that the quickest way to get me royally irritated was to tell me that I depended on Connor and Murphy too much. With one last haughty look, Fergal turned on his heel and slammed out of the door of the Anvil._

""_E's a such an eejit, Als," My cousin, Devin shook her head. "I don' even know why ye put up wit' 'im."_

_Turning on my heel, I saw the familiar stature of my one of only two girl cousins. Devin MacManus was my Uncle Sibeal's only daughter, a cross that both Rowan, my other cousin and I had to bare. Her dark brown hair shone in the florescent lighting, her green eyes sparkling with a familiar mischievous gleam._

"'_Ello Devin," I greeted, ignoring her previous statement. "'Ow are ya?"_

"_I'm alrigh'. Liam and Ryan had a row, mighty unpleasant at me house right now," Devin replied, with a huff._

_Liam and Ryan were my older twin cousins; in the Sixth year. They had light brown hair and crystal blue eyes. Both were over six feet, and they normally got along but whenever they were fighting, it was awful. They'd give one another the silent treatment turning every room of their house into World War Three. It always ended up sucking the rest of the family into whatever spat they were having. It wasn't an odd occurrence that if one set of MacManus multiples were fighting then the lot of us were as well. A habit that drove our parents, Aunts, and Uncles completely bonkers._

"_Wot are they fightin about now?" I questioned._

"_Fuck if I know," Devin rolled her eyes. "They don' tell us anythin'. They just glare at each other whenever they're in tha same fuckin' room. Worse then a pack of girls, I swear it."_

_I glanced around the smoky pub, noticing that Liam and Ryan were currently sitting at the same table, having a serious conversation with Connor and Murphy. Following my line of sight I saw Devin looking at the same scene._

"_Somethin' happened," Devin whispered. "They were yellin' their heads off at one another this mornin."_

"_Or's gonna happen," I shrugged._

"_Wot's goin on?" Rowan asked, popping up behind Devin and I. "I 'eard ye and Fergal had another row, Ally."_

"'_Ow'd ye hear dat?" I questioned. "It jus' happened."_

"_I was talkin about tha one at school," Rowan shrugged. "Although dat explains why he stormed outta here. And wot's wit' the lot o' 'em?" She gestured to our family members. _

"_Dat's wot we were tryin ta figure out," Devin shrugged. "They were there when Ally and Fergal started fightin."_

"_We're breakin up," I announced as I cleared another table off._

"_Wot?" Rowan questioned. "Are ya serious?"_

"_Aye," I responded. "From tha looks of 'em dat's wot they're all talkin about."_

"_Seems like the best explanation," Devin shrugged._

_**November 14, 1990**_

_I sighed as I looked in the bathroom mirror of the Anvil's bathroom, frowning. I had broken up with Fergal, just like I had said I was going to. What I wasn't expecting was for him to spin a complete character 180. And, by that I meant backhand me across the face. In the months that I had known Fergal, I never thought he was abusive. Sneering at my reflection I realized how much that mistake had cost me. I prodded my bruised cheek and eye gently. He had hit me hard enough to black my eye and I was pissed._

_I had fought with Conn and Murph about me dating Fergal in the first place. They hadn't approved, said his reputation was bad. He didn't hail from the most upstanding of citizens and was a bit of a player. But, he was so nice to me and sweet and completely attentive. And now this had happened. The fuck was I going to do? Make up barely covered it and as it was I didn't own anything that could really cover it. It was impending that by the end of the night or before school on Monday morning, Fergal would have a black eye to rival mine, at least. _

"_Hey, wot are ye…?" Devin began walking into the bathroom, her question trailing off as she caught sight of me. Her mouth falling open in a small 'O'. "Wot happened ta ya? Did ya scrap wit' Conn or Murph today?"_

"_No. Fergal hit me," I responded. "And Conn and Murph don't know yet, before ya ask."_

"_Jaysus," Devin hissed. "Ya hit 'im back?"_

"_No," I frowned._

"_Why tha 'ell not?" Devin demanded._

"'_E fuckin knocked me ta the ground," I responded. "By the time I got ta me feet 'e was gone. Fuckin' pussy."_

"_No matta," Devin smirked. "He'll get his once Conn and Murph get a good look at dat eye."_

"_Aye," I sighed._

"_Wot are ya two doin?" Liam questioned. "Da wants ya out… Ally? Wot tha 'ell happened ta ya?"_

"_It's nothing, Li," I sighed. _

"_Someone put their fist in yer eye," Liam glared at me. "Did ya fight wit' Conn or Murph?"_

_I shook my head, grinning despite the situation. I loved that in my family any bruises were questioned by whether or not they were family inflicted before the protectiveness really kicked in. Some families would be horrified but in the family MacManus, bruises and black eyes were commonplace. We had called down once we were all teenagers but it still happened, and probably always would._

"_Do they even know?" Liam asked._

"_No," I responded._

"_Dev, give 'em a call," Liam ordered._

_Within a half hour Connor and Murphy had arrived. I don't know what Devin had told them but whatever it was had worried them. They had barged through the back door and quickly cornered me. Or more like they dropped down on either side of the cot I was sitting on._

"_Fergal?" Murphy growled. Without even asking anything else as he tipped my chin into the light so both Connor and Murphy could look at the damage._

"_Dat son o' a bitch," Connor growled. "Tha fuck did 'e hit ya fer?"_

"_Not dat it would give 'im the right," Murphy snapped._

"_I didn' say dat Murph," Connor rolled his eyes._

_Before Connor or Murphy could bicker further I quickly announced, "I broke up wit' 'im."_

"_There's a good lass," Connor praised._

"_Does it hurt?" Murphy asked._

"_O' course not," I rolled my eyes. "Tha both o' ya 'ave given me worse and ya know it."_

"_Aye," Connor agreed. "But we're gonna show 'im wot happens when ya don' respect women."_

Just as I had figured, come Monday morning, Fergal had two black eyes and a broken nose. Fergal and I had avoided one another after that. But, despite what had happened I was surprised to find that he had fallen in with the IRA. While his family members did have direct lines into IRA, I never thought he'd join them. He always told me how he couldn't wait to get out of Monaghan and move to England or the States. At the same time it made sense Fergal was loyal to his family and had a penchant for explosives a skill that would be of importance to the IRA higher ups. Perhaps we'd have some work here, after all.

"Do me eyes deceive me?" Uncle Sibeal smiled with Uncle Patrick in tow.

"It's about fuckin' time ye three found yer way home," Uncle Patrick smirked.

I hadn't seen either approach but I was happy to see them. I went over and hugged them both, answering the mundane questions that one is asked when seeing someone for the first time in a while. I grinned as my brothers greeted our Uncles as well. From what I could tell they knew that Da was back. Both Uncle Sibeal and Patrick could pass for twins, the same way Connor and Murphy could, but I knew that one was just not complete without the third.

It was a strange bond that triplets shared, one that lacked words and an explanation because, in most ways, there was no explanation. Unless you had experienced the relationship that being a triplet brought you wouldn't understand. It was almost as if we were tethered together, able to feel what the others felt, to know whether or not they were okay. There was also the fact that Triplets could not hide anything from one another. It was only out of respect for another did we not call on one another when we lied about something, because it was inevitable that we'd find out about it.

As the night wore on I watched my family interacting. It was amazing how Da just weaved himself into everything like he had been there from the start. I guess, in some ways, he had been, what with my Uncles keeping him up to date on goings-on. Watching the three interact was amusing, I saw shades of Conn, Murph, and I in them. Ma, Aunt Nora, Uncle Patrick's wife, and Lucy, Uncle Sibeal's wife was also an interesting group to watch. They could drink most people under the table and they had the amazing ability to quiet the lot of us in barely a sentence. Ma always said that they were kindred spirits, and I was hard-pressed to argue with her.

"Ya ready ta head back?" Murphy whispered into my ear nearly an hour later.

"Aye," I agreed.

We met Connor at the door and the three of us began the short walk home. Once again I was the one in the middle, making me think that this recent development was here to stay.

"Ye're doin it again," Connor noted, bumping me with his hip.

"Doin wot?" I asked.

"Tha silent brooding thing ya do," Murphy stated.

"Like ye're any better, Murph," I rolled my eyes.

"Don' be narky, Ally," Connor laughed. "Wot are ya thinkin about?"

"Nothin," I responded, quickly.

"Bull," Murphy retorted.

It was silent for a few moments before I announced something that had been bothering me, "Did ye two know that Da and our Uncles were called?"

"Really?" Murphy mused, suddenly pensive. "Makes sense."

"Dat it does," Connor smiled. "It always felt like it ran in tha family."

"Aye," We all agreed.

"Ya know about wot Rowan said about Fergal…" Murphy began.

"Sounds like we might not just be retired after all," Connor stated.

"We weren't retired," I protested. "More like on vacation. Smecker'll be mad if we start killin people off when we're supposed ta be layin low."

"Wot about protecting tha family?" Murphy questioned. "This shit could blow back on 'em."

"Aye," Connor agreed. "But I think they can handle themselves."

"Against the IRA?" I sighed. "Or anyone else we've targeted. Dat's a helluva lot o' enemies ta make, Connor."

"We've already made our choices," Connor said firmly.

"Those choices shouldn' blow up in tha faces of those who aren' even fuckin' involved," I argued.

"Is this because we'd be killin yer little boyfriend?" Murphy sneered. "Fergal was a maggot then and 'e's still one now."

"Ye're never gonna let dat go, are ya, Murph?" I snapped. "It was damn near ten years ago. It don' matter ta me wot Fergal Cavanaugh does. If I want ta be gunnin after anyone it's Lorenzo fuckin' Yakavetta."

We had been almost home at that point when two hands flew out blocking me from advancing any further. In tandem, Connor and Murphy moved in front of me, arms crossed over their chests, glowers adorning their faces. I tried to wrack my brains about what could possibly warrant a response like this when I realized, I had never told them that I hadn't killed Lorenzo Yakavetta.

"'E's still alive?" Connor growled, his voice dangerously low.

"No, Connor, I figured we should add Zombie Hunters ta the mix," I rolled my eyes, flinching when Connor took one step forward. His glare becoming all the more menacing.

"Why the fuck is 'e still alive?" Murphy questioned. "'Ow'd ya escape if ya didn' kill 'im."

"I knocked 'im unconscious," I explained. "I would've killed 'im but I heard gunshots and thought it was some thugs killin ye two. So excuse me if I 'ave more fuckin concern fer ye two than whether some mobster lives or dies."

"Why didn' ye tell us after?" Connor asked.

"Rocco was dead fer one," I hissed. "And we had jus' found Da and we had ta get outta the goddamn house."

"I didn' mean dat night, Ally," Connor corrected. "Why did ya wait until now ta tell us?"

"She like let it slip, more like," Murphy noted.

"Oh, Jaysus," I snapped. "Go fuck yerselves. Tha both o' ya."

I moved to shove by them but each laid a hand on my shoulder keeping me still. I had way too much to drink to be dealing with this right now. There was some days were the two of them could be like pit bulls the second they got something they locked on, and come hell or high water they weren't letting go until they had gotten what they wanted. Stubborn eejiits the both of them were.

"We were in New York fer months," Connor explained. "We were in his fuckin backyard. Takin' out his fuckin peons and ye couldn' be bothered ta tell us tha person in charge was still breathin?"

"No, Connor," I spat. "I purposefully left it out so that we'd be unprepared. Fer all I know 'e did die dat night. In New York I was more focused on my sanity. Evil men…dead men. It didn't matta ta me who tha fuck they were. If they were evil they died."

"I think ye still want 'im fer yerself," Murphy told me.

"And if I do?" I asked. "He fuckin raped me, Murph."

"I know wot he fuckin' did," Murphy snarled. "Jaysus Christ. Ye don' think we don' want ta kill tha bastard over and over fer ever hurtin ya?"

"I didn't mean it like that," I sighed. The anger leaving as quickly as it had come. "Trust me, I didn' leave either o' ya in the dark on purpose."

"Let's jus' get 'ome alright?" Connor finally said. "We can talk about this later."

Instead of following after Connor and Murphy to our room, I walked into the kitchen. I grabbed the tea pot from where it waited by the stove, filling it up with water before putting it on to boil. As the water was beginning to boil I felt another presence in the kitchen. Turning on my heel, I saw that Ma was staring right back at me.

"Ye want some tea, Ma?" I asked.

"Thank ye, lass," Ma smiled, sitting at the kitchen table. I filled two tea cups of water, adding the tea bags on my way to the table. I placed one cup in front of Ma, settling into the chair next to her.

"I want ta know wot's been goin on, Allison," Ma stated.

Her voice held an edge I was very familiar with. One that warned that she was nearing the edge of her patience and things wouldn't be pleasant if that aforementioned patience ran out.

"A lot o' things, Ma," I sighed. "Ye remember when I was in tha hospital?"

"Aye?" Ma responded.

"I was raped," I told her. "Dat's why I moved ta tha states. I didn't feel safe in England anymore. On Saint Patrick's Day we got into a scrap with some members of the Russian mob, tha next day they came for revenge. We got off o' any charges because it was self defense. Dat night we were called."

"Jaysus," Ma hissed. "I was wonderin when ye'd be called."

"Wot?" I whispered.

"I'm not a idiot, Ally," Ma chided. "I knew there was somethin different about this family; just like I knew there was something different about the three o' ya. Sibeal and Patrick had multiples themselves but none o' them shared the bond ye 'ave with Murph and Conn. It's dat same connection dat yer Da and 'is bro'thers share. Dat's tha reason why ye three were called outta this generation."

All I could do was drink my tea realizing and quickly so that there was more to this family than we ever knew. I wondered how much we'd find out if we weren't the ones who had been called.

"Why aren' ye surprised by wot else I said, Ma?" I asked.

"Ye mean yer rape?" Ma clarified.

"Aye," I said.

"Yer bro'thers folded on ya, Ally girl. They called me tha day after ya told 'em everything," Ma smiled "I knew ye'd tell me when ye were ready."

"Which one was it?" I questioned.

"Ye're not gonna pick a fight over this," Ma growled. "They mean well. Ye should head on up ta bed, Ally."

"Goodnight, Ma," I stated.

I walked up stairs and into the darkened bedroom. Soft snores greeted me as I shut the door silently making my way to my bed. I stripped down into a tank top and cotton short shorts before climbing under the covers.

_I couldn't move. My limbs were leaden and I realized a moment too late that I was sitting down. My arms bound behind my back and my legs were shackled together. A cotton gag was lodged in my mouth with my blood turning my vision a hazy red. I smelt the cologne before I saw him. Lorenzo was here and upon further analysis of my surroundings I found that I was in the basement of the mansion. Rocco lay unmoving beside me, Connor and Murphy were uncomfortably still. Oh, god, no._

"_You and these knives of yours," Lorenzo scolded, holding up one silver knife, no longer shiny, but covered in blood. "I have to admit they come in handy. So very sharp. Very easy to slit someone's throat."_

_He gave me what one might call a smile but it wasn't meant to be remotely friendly. He walked to my side, digging the knife into my shoulder, dragging it from one side to the other as he made his way over to Connor. With a jerk he had grabbed a fistful of Connor's hair, jerking his head back. My screams were muffled by the gag but the tears came fast and hard, running down my cheeks. His throat had been slit near to bone._

"_Do you see what vigilantism does to people?" Lorenzo demanded. "Or being related to you, for that matter. Just think if you had died when you were supposed to your brother's would still be alive. Their blood and Rocco's here is on your hands."_

_I shook my head, furiously denying what Lorenzo was saying as I shut my eyes, willing myself to block out the disturbing images. It was no use I watched Rocco get shot, the light leave his eyes. I had seen Connor's neck, felt the knife, my knife, that did all that damage._

"_Do not shake your head at me, fica." __(cunt) __Lorenzo barked. "You killed my brother. It's only fair that I return the favor."_

_

* * *

_

**Author's note part two: Hi everyone. I'm so glad people are enjoying the story. Thank you so much for the reviews and the adds thus far. I mean only to encourage more of the same, as reviews make me update faster. This story also has the luxury of being the one that has my muse's attention in an iron grip, trust me when I say it is not often that happens. So review and make me and the tempermental thing I call my muse happy. Also, character concepts for all the people mentioned within this chapter, as well as some changes to those concepts that are already in existence should be coming up shortly, I'd say within the next 48 hours or so. **

**Thank you kindly,**

**Beccatdemon13  
**


	10. All That You Can't Leave Behind

**Chapter Ten: All That You Can't Leave Behind**

**Devin's Point of View**

Tonight was just destined to be a horrible evening of that I was sure. Da had taken ill and was confined to bed with Ma hovering over him. Liam and Ryan had yet another row, which in and of itself wasn't surprising, those boys spent more time fighting with one another than getting along. Whatever had happened this time, I had no idea. But two surly MacManus men at a bar never ended well. They sat at either end of the bar, the distance separately them a warning to all as to what had happened. Both were nursing a beer, doing there very best to avoid everyone's eye and making everyone miserable in the process. I had been used as a messenger between the two and my patience was fraying, quickly.

Brendan and Finn were in between Liam and Ryan doing there very best to make a tense situation better. Brendan, Finn, and my other cousin Kennedy acted like they actually liked being around one another. They reminded me of Connor, Murphy, and Allison. Although both sets of triplets could and did fight like cats and dogs, they spent most of their time getting along, fighting with other people and watching one another's backs. Sometimes it seemed as though Ryan and Liam resented their bond, and the fact that they shared so much, their birthday, their room, and mannerisms. At the same time Liam and Ryan were inseparable, working part time at our farm and Aunt Belle's. Confusion thy name was MacManus.

"'Ow ya doin today, Dev?" Rowan asked.

Her blonde hair was pulled back into a messy bun, a few stubborn pieces hung down, hiding her emerald eyes. She had grown taller than both Ally and I at five foot seven. She was one of the Anvil customer's favorite barmaid's with an easy and luminescent smile.

"Been better," I answered flatly with pointed looks at both Liam and Ryan both of whom had the decency to look sheepish. "Yerself?"

"Great, actually," Rowan smiled. "It's nice ta 'ave the entire family together. Even Uncle Noah's 'ere now."

"Do ya even remember 'im?" I wondered.

The question seemed a little harsh but it was true. Uncle Noah had been someone I heard in Da's stories by the time we all started remembering things. He had apparently left when the lot of us were two or three. Still, I knew who he was when I met him again last night. It was like he had always been there…except he hadn't.

"Dev," Finn censured, having heard my question from across the bar.

"I didn' mean anythin by it," I insisted, eyeing Rowan who looked like someone had kicked her puppy. She had always been a little more sheltered than the rest of us, since she was the youngest. The big green eyes didn't help matters. Jaysus, I was a bitch.

"Then wot did ya mean?" Brendan asked.

"Nothin'," I rolled my eyes. "Jaysus fuckin' Christ, did ya all need ta jump down me throat?"

"Lords fuckin' name, " The entire bar seemed to say.

That was the one reprimand that seemed to become the go to phrase of the MacManus clan and anyone who knew them, which included any and all Anvil customers.

"Mother Mary full o' grace," I sighed.

The night trudged on as slow as possible, until finally last call rang through. I was in the back straightening things; the rest of the family had gone home so I was the only one in the bar. Or at least I thought I was until I heard the bell of above the door ring.

"We're closed!" I called.

When I didn't hear anyone walk back out of the door, I dropped the dishtowel and stormed out of the back room. Could this day get any more irritating? Scowling as I slammed into the main room.

"I said we're closed," I growled.

"Oh, I 'eard ya," Someone behind me laughed, closing the door I just walked through. "I jus' didn' care."

"Fergal," I sneered. "Wot are ya doin?"

"I didn' ask ye ta speak, Devin," Fergal growled. "I've come ta collect, as par our arrangement."

"I told ye I don' need protection," I snarled.

"Why?" Fergal scoffed. "Ye bro'thers and cousins are gonna keep ya safe? Dat kept Allison safe, I 'eard. Oh, right, she was raped, wasn' she?'

"Fuck you," I snarled.

"Mind yer manners," Fergal scolded. "Ya don' 'ave yer guns and yer alone. I suggest ye give me tha money or I'll 'urt ya."

"And ye'd enjoy dat wouldn' ya?" I growled. "Ya sick fuck."

The only warning I had was Fergal's eyes hazel eyes darkening before he backhanded me across the face. Before I could fall he grabbed me by the shirt pulling me to him. The click of a safety echoed around the bar as a gun rested against my temple.

"Now tha was jus unprofessional," Fergal sighed. "I'm surprised at ye, Devin. Ta make matters worse ya made me mar dat pretty lil face o' yers. Now, where's me five hundred Euros?"

"Ye gonna shoot me?" I questioned.

"I'm not a patient man," Fergal growled. "Tha money or yer life and then I'll go ta dat pretty lil cousin o' yers."

"Ya touch 'er and I'll kill ya meself," I snarled.

"Cute," Fergal scoffed shoving me in the direction of the register. "Now."

I opened the register hiding a smile as I pulled out the small pistol Da had the foresight to put there. I pulled out five hundred Euros, pulling the pistol into sleeve.

"Here," I snarled.

"There's a good lass," Fergal praised.

He turned on his heel to go to the door and that's when I moved, grabbing the pistol and cocking the safety. Before Fergal could turn or reach, I fired shooting him through the shoulder.

"Ye bitch," Fergal gasped.

"Don' call me dat," I growled, walking over to him I flipped the lock on the door, pulling the Euros from his hand and pocketing it. "I've been wantin ta do this since ye bitch slapped me cousin."

Fergal's eyes were livid as I stepped on his chest pinning him to the floor.

"A shepherd I shall be," I began. "Fer thee me Lord fer thee, power hath descended forth from thy hand dat me feet shall swiftly carry out thy command. I shall flow a river forth ta thee and teemin with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."

I crossed myself before I fired a bullet into Fergal's skull. Blood splattered everywhere as I stumbled backwards. I had done it. I'd actually killed a man. I had heard whispers of a calling from God to be his vengeful hammer but he had never called me. He had called me Da and me Uncles, and even Connor, Murphy, and Ally, if the rumors were true. But, he hadn't called the rest of us. Or maybe he didn't in so many words.

A sob forced its way from the back of my throat as I grabbed the phone from the wall, knowing no matter the number I dialed, I would have support in my decisions. I knew it was late to be calling but family had the uncanny knack for knowing when other family was on the line.

"Dev?" Ally questioned. "Wot's goin on?"

"I 'ad an unfortunate run-in wit' yer ex," I quipped.

With the overprotective men in our family Ally, Ro, and I had only had a handful of boyfriends each. Knowing Ally as well as I did, I knew she'd know what ex I meant.

"Are ye alright?" Ally growled. The rage in her tone was barely masked and not directed as me as I heard a flurry of movement.

"Aye," I answered. "But I think ye should get over 'ere."

"I'll be there in five," Ally promised.

I hung up after I heard the slam of the other receiver. I moved back to the register, putting the money and gun back where they belonged. I then moved into the back, washing my hands and anything else that had been splattered with bleach. The door's locks tumbled open as Ally pushed her way in. She eyed Fergal's body before turning to shut the door, locking it back up.

"Wot tha 'ell happened?" Ally demanded.

"Fergal tried ta shake me down," I shrugged. "'E hit me. I gave 'im the money, and then I shot 'im. Took 'im out righ' though. A lot more than 'e deserved."

"I'll agree ta dat," Ally smirked. "Call Uncle Patrick. 'E'll write it up as self-defense. 'E hit ya ferst, right?"

"Aye," I nodded.

"Dat eye's gonna black up real nice," Ally told me.

"Déjà vu?"

"Ye're such a smart-arse," Ally shook her head. "I'll call Uncle Pat."

Twenty minutes later Garda Síochána, Ireland's own police officerswere swarming the place. Uncle Pat was Assistant Commissioner of Monaghan's Garda station. Some like my Uncle chose to carry guns while most carried batons.

"Why don' ye two go 'ome," Uncle Pat suggested. "It was self-defense, as ya said, right, Dev?"

"Aye," I nodded.

"Alrigh' then," Uncle Pat nodded "We'll get this place cleaned up. All things considered, ye might wanna close fer today."

"I think I can do dat," I replied. "Fergal might 'ave been a dick. But, I'll shut down the bar ta pay respect."

"Hold on a second, Dev," Uncle Pat called as Ally and I walked out the front door.

"Wot is it?" I asked.

"Why didn't ye tell anyone dat tha IRA was tryin to shake ye down fer money?" Uncle Pat questioned.

"Threatened ta kill me," I shrugged. "And everyone else."

Uncle Pat's face indicated that if Fergal hadn't already been dead, then he would've been the second that Pat found 'im. He gave both Ally and I a kiss on the forehead before he walked back inside the bar.

**Ally's Point of View**

By the time I got back from the bar, the entire house was dark. I unlocked the front door, slipping inside before I turned the lock once more. I snuck through the darkness, up the stairs and into my room. I collapsed into my bed sending a quick prayer for dreamless sleep.

When I awoke not even four hours later, breathing quick tears in my eyes, I knew that my prayers weren't answered. Frowning, I thanked God for the fact that at least I didn't remember it. Still it probably hadn't changed from the nightmares that I had recently. It always started with the rape, before going into Rocco's murder before Lorenzo killed either Murphy or Connor or on horrible days both.

The next morning came far sooner than I realized. After the nightmare I couldn't go back to sleep, so instead of wasting my time tossing and turning, and most likely waking up Conn and Murph in the process; I left our room. I went down to the fields, carefully avoiding any an all creaky spots in our floor Loki and Hunter, our border collies, circled around my feet barking every so often. Their eyes were attentive ready for anything and everything.

I often wondered if I was the only one who had nightmares. Of course, I didn't really think that I was a special case; just that my brothers were better at hiding it than I was. Frowning at nothing I dropped to a seat on the top of a hill on our land. I ended up watching the sun rise with the dogs on either side of me. When the sun was higher in the sky, I rose to my feet, whistling the special whistle that meant that the Hunter and Loki should go back to the barn.

I made my way back into the house, finding Ma and Da in the kitchen. Ma was cooking breakfast, while Da was reading the paper, cigar in his mouth, and a cup of tea in his free hand. The scene was surprisingly considering what we had been doing the last couple months. I could smell sausage and rashers (bacon) sizzling as Ma fussed with eggs, toast, fried tomatoes, hash browns, and because we couldn't possibly have enough food already, white and black pudding.

"Feedin an army, Ma?" I queried.

"Mornin lass," Ma smirked.

"Mornin Ma," I chirped, in a surprisingly good mood. "Mornin Da."

"Mornin Darlin'," Da smiled.

I sat down at my normal seat and watched Ma as she cooked. I could hear Conn and Murph stirring upstairs as the smell of a good home-cooked meal filtered to all areas of the house. When both made their appearances, their hair was standing on end and they were wearing the clothing they had fallen asleep in.

"Murph, say grace," Ma ordered as she laid out plates piled high with food. She was a firm believer in breakfast was a good start to any day.

We all bowed our heads as Murphy began to pray, "Lord we ask ye ta bless this food we're about ta receive. Bless tha hands dat prepared it Use it ta nourish and strengthen our bodies, and our bodies fer yer kingdom work. In Jaysus name we pray. Amen."

"Amen," We all agreed.

We dug into the food relishing the home cooked meal. I didn't forget that Devin had just killed Fergal and we would be gathering intel so that we could hit the IRA. Now that the IRA had targeted family our hands were tied, that was something that we couldn't let them get away with. The IRA was a terrorist group whose primarily goal was to get British influence out of Ireland, or at least that's how they started. Now they were skilled at explosions and inciting terror. They also financially backed the Irish mobs in the state, giving us the unique opportunity to deal critical blows to two separate criminal enterprises.

After breakfast I volunteered to clean up, giving myself some time before Conn, Murph, and I discussed business. Try as I might to remind myself that dreams were just dreams, the fact remained that when I saw Connor or Murphy I could also see them with their throats slit near to the bone. Fiction and reality collided and I had only my subconscious to blame. I was almost done with the dishes when I felt another presence in the room.

"Ye ha another nightmare," Connor sighed.

"Aye," I muttered, continuing to wash dishes.

Connor ducked into my peripheral vision prompting me to duck my head. Try as I might I could still see Connor, superimposed on the dream Connor whose lifeless body died at the hands of my own weapon. Lorenzo's voice mocking, "It's only fair."

"Wot did ya dream about?" Connor questioned.

"It's nothin," I mumbled.

"Liar," Connor scoffed. "Whatever it was it shook ye up. We 'eard ya cryin out fer us."

"Conn, please," I pleaded weakly, for what I didn't know.

"Ally," Connor whispered seconds before he spun me around taking my face in his hands, forcing our eyes to lock. I couldn't stop my eyes from moving from Connor's gaze to his throat. There was so much blood, no one could've survived a wound that deep.

"'E killed ya," I explained. There was raw emotion in my tone that I couldn't hide even if I wanted to. "Wit me own knife."

"'E ain't gonna touch me," Connor soothed "Or any o' us. We'll kill 'im, Ally. I promise ye that."

I didn't say a word as Connor opened his arms, needing no further invitation I burrowed myself into his chest, my face hidden in the hallow between his neck and shoulders. I really shouldn't have been surprised that my face was wet with tears, as Connor held me tightly. I was far to exhausted to be irritated that the one thing I seemed to be doing more than anything else was crying. I was such a girl.

"Shhh, Ally, shhh," Connor soothed. "Ye're alright, Murph and I are alright and so is everyone else."

Having two brothers really did come in handy more often than not. Two people who knew me so well to know whether I needed a shoulder to cry on or for good advice, Connor's expertise, or to scrap, which was Murph's area. Not to say that Connor hadn't trounced me enough times and Murphy was always there when I woke up from nightmares.

"Feel better?" Connor asked as I pulled away. He kept contact dropping a hand on my shoulder.

"Aye, a bit," I replied. "Thank ye, Connor."

"I 'ave information," Murphy announced walking into the kitchen.

"Do ya now, Macho Murph?" Connor smirked.

Murphy ignored the dig eyeing Connor and I curiously. A sudden spark lit up in his eyes as both he and Connor quickly conversed. For as many as the two of them ganged up on me but they also knew when talking one on one would be better. Either way we'd all be on the same page regardless of what method was used. Ma had always said that the whole united front thing that Connor and Murphy did was a skill that they had perfected by first using it with me. Like that St. Patty's day brawl, neither had to say a word to know when to attack.

"Wot did ya find out, Murph?" I questioned.

After holding my eyes he answered, "Guess wot town 'as an IRA stronghold? We do. They're shippin out guns ta tha States in oil dromes."

"Holy shite," Connor hissed. "As if we needed any more reason ta crush these sons o' bitches."

"'Ow's Dev holdin' up?" Murphy asked.

"She's fine," I smirked. "Told me 'e had it comin."

"Can' argue wit' dat," Connor grinned. "When's tha next shipment?"

"Three nights from now," Murphy responded.

"Plenty o' time," I stated. "We should tell Smecker."

At Connor and Murphy's confused look I continued, "We promised 'im we would lay low."

"We promised Roc we'd keep goin," Murphy retorted.

"Tha fuck is yer problem, Murphy?" I growled.

"Me problem?" Murphy sneered. "I don' 'ave a problem. Do ye?"

"Aye, I do," I retorted. "Perhaps it 'as somethin' ta do wit' me bro'ther bein a twat."

"A twat?" Murphy repeated, testily.

"We 'ave ta watch our backs, called or not we pull a hit 'ere and Interpol will be all over it," I stated.

"Interpol?" Connor repeated skeptically, shoving Murphy away from me with a sharp look to both of us. "Why tha 'ell would Interpol be involved."

"Organized Crime works all over tha world, Connor," I explained. "We kill organized crime members. We're in tha same category. It doesn't matter whether or not we're killin them all."

"Then wot do ye suggest?" Murphy questioned, still irritated with me for calling him a twat.

"I suggest we either call Smecker and give 'im a heads up," I stated. "Or we can leave the pennies at 'ome."

"And do wot?" Connor asked. "'Ow else do we show absolution?"

"Palm crosses," I suggested.

Connor and Murphy share a look before they nodded simultaneously. There were palms all over the place, Easter having taken place only a week before. It offered a way for the repentance, which wad ultimately the same thing for that we used the pennies for.

"We'll study up on everything and we'll be ready fer 'em," Murphy smirked.

When we were all in agreement we scattered to all areas of the house. I had gone back upstairs and noticed immediately that the chest of guns and money was sitting in the middle of the room. Someone had dug it up and not a moment too soon. I pulled out our guns laying them on my desk before kicking the chest closed once more. By the time we were through the IRA wouldn't even know what hit 'em.

"_Please! Don' hurt 'em. I'm beggin ye." I sobbed as I thrashed against the handcuffs that were severely restraining my movements._

"_I'm not hurting them," Lorenzo sneered. "Any one you touch will die. You killed my brother in public. The least I could do was get the men who terrorized that court and make them pay."_

"_He was a bad man!"_

"_He was my brother!" Lorenzo barked, closing the distance between us to punch me across the face. My head snapped to the side as Lorenzo glared own at me._

"_Don' ye fuckin touch 'er!" Connor roared._

"_You took my big brother away from me," Lorenzo growled. "You didn't even hesitate. There's a reason why that was a mistake."_

"_I'll fuckin' kill ya!" I screamed as Lorenzo turned moving towards Murphy. "I swear ta God!"_

"_Oh, you might," Lorenzo smirked yanking Murphy's head back and slitting his throat. "But not before I killed him."_

_I watched Murphy's eyes snap open, he had been unconscious moments before and was now awake and consciously aware that he was gagging…choking on his own blood._

"_Murph!" Connor shouted. "Ye son o' a bitch!"_

"_Name-calling," Lorenzo scoffed. "Nice. Didn't your mother teach you any respect."_

"_Go fuck yerself," Connor snarled._

_I screamed as Lorenzo lunged stabbing Connor in the stomach, dragging the knife upwards. Connor spluttered and gasped as he met Lorenzo's eyes. Hated gaze locked on hated gaze. I was still screaming when Lorenzo rounded on me, blood slicked knife dangling loosely from his hand. My brother's blood covering his formerly white shirt._

"_This is all your fault," Lorenzo growled. "Everything. All of this is your fault. All this blood is on your hands."_

"_How could you let them do this to me?" Rocco whispered._

_His chair was magically upright. The wound on his chest bleeding profusely, blood trickling out of his mouth, "I trusted you and you got me killed."_

"_Roc, no," I pleaded. "No, Rocco, no. Murphy, Connor, no, oh god, please! Go! No!"_

"Allison!" Connor shouted. "Ally, come on, now."

"Open yer fucking eyes, Ally," Murphy ordered sharply. "Ye're scaring us. Listen ta me now, open yer eyes."

I rocketed out of bed, nearly colliding head first with Connor as I scrambled off my bed and into the corner between my bed and the wall. My knees were pulled up to my chest, my entire body shaking as I began to sob. I didn't know what to do, the nightmares were only getting worse. Sleep or no sleep it didn't matter, I knew what was waiting for me the second my eyes shut. The images waiting to assault me the second my guard was down.

"Oh, Ally" Connor sighed.

Suddenly the space between my bed and the wall was impossibly crowded as both he and Murphy leapt over the bed sitting down on either side of me. Their arms wrapped around me, cocooning me in the safety of their arms. I turned my body so that my face hidden in Murphy's neck as he maneuvered me into his lap so he could hold me more comfortably. Connor moved closer, his arms wrapped around both Murphy and I.

I knew that my nightmares weren't only wearing on me but on my brothers'. Who were forced to listen to my cries day after day and not be able to save me from the demons that lay in wait until I was asleep. But, they were there whenever I finally woke up, and that was enough for me.

**Devin's Point of View**

"Our father who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us today our daily bread. Fergive us our sins as we fergive those who trespass against us. And lead us not inta temptation but deliver us from evil. Fer thine is tha kingdom, and tha power, and tha glory, ferever and ever. Amen."

"Devin, lass yeh've been prayin in 'ere fer three hours now," Da whispered.

"Da, ye should be in bed," I reproached jumping up from my knees.

"Don' ye go and sound like yer Ma now," Da sighed.

He was wearing normal clothing, looking at me in concern. At least he looked healthier than he had all week. I sighed as I noticed that Uncle Patrick was beside Da and so was Uncle Noah.

"'Ow are ye, lass?" Uncle Noah asked.

"'M fine," I replied.

"Don'tcha lie inside these hallowed walls, lassie," Uncle Patrick scolded. "Tha ferst kill is always the hardest."

"I wasn' called," I mumbled.

"Nonsense child," Noah reproached. "Ye know ye did tha right thing. There are different ways ta be called."

"Wot about Conn, Murph, and Ally?" I asked. "They were called. Ally told me about tha shared dream and everythin."

"Don' worry 'bout it, Devin," Patrick sighed. "'E would've killed ye."

"I killed 'im," I whimpered, my voice suddenly quavering. "I shot 'im square in tha chest and I don' regret a thing. I said the prayer and I pulled tha trigger and I'd do it all over again."

"The MacManus family 'as always been cut from a different cloth, Dev," Da explained. "While other people are content ta wait fer God ta pass 'is judgment or let the law take care of the evil-doers, the MacManus' know dat sometimes people need ta be shown tha error of their ways by takin away tha one thing dat matters most. We're the vengeful striking hammer o' God. We've always been called. Last night was yer turn. Maybe it'll just be you, Connor, Murphy, and Allison. Or maybe tha others will one day join ye four. Either way ye were given a task, child. Don' let yer guilt guide ye away from it."

"Yer bro'thers and cousins will always watch yer back, Dev," Noah smiled. "If ye ever need them, ye know they'll be there fer ye."

"Aye," I smiled.

"Now, wot do ye say about comin 'ome and getting somethin' ta eat?" Da smiled. "Yer Ma's worried sick."

"And ye know how yer Ma gets," Patrick smirked. "Makes Belle look like tha calmest one o' tha family."

"Now dat's funny," Noah smirked. "She kept up wit' those three. Ye gotta give 'er dat."

"Oh, Noah, we 'aven't even begun ta touch wot yet three little scamps got inta growin up," Patrick shook his head. "We gave ye some of the best stories but those three got inta more trouble then any set o' MacManus kids has ever gotten inta."

"There was tha time they nicked tha sacramental wine," Da snickered. "Don' think they sat right fer weeks after Belle was through wit 'em fer dat one."

"They were polluted, Sibeal," Patrick wheezed. "There was tha time at Conn and Murph accidently set tha barn on fire."

"Dat was tha ferst time they smoked!" Da smiled. "I startled 'em and tha eejiits dropped tha cigarettes in tha hay and scrambled out ta meet me. Like I couldn' smell tha smoke on 'em."

"Wot about tha time dat Connor and Murph threatened Ally's ferst boyfriend?" Patrick snickered. "Poor lad ran fer tha hills."

"Oh, Ally was fumin'," Da whistled. "She looks jus' like Belle when she gets angry."

"She didn' talk ta Conn or Murph fer days, tha two o' 'em didn' know wot ta do," Patrick sighed. "They never could handle knowin Ally was ticked wit' 'em."

"There was tha time where Connor broke tha coffee table," Da shook his head. "Do ya even remember wot 'e and Ally were fuckin' arguing about?"

"Nay," Patrick sighed. "Murphy gave tha lot o' us a fright, sayin 'ow Ally lunged at Connor, who managed to spin 'er around, slammin 'er on tha coffee table and breakin it in the process."

"Six stitches outta dat scrap," Da grimaced. "Belle, was hoppin mad. Who could blame 'er? She comes 'ome ta find Ally unconscious, Connor wit' a bloody nose and blacked eye, wit' Murph getting all worked up over it."

"Murphy trounced Connor good fer dat one," Patrick said. "Scrappin over a scrappin. Could only made sense ta those three."

"Wot was dat one story ya told me?" Noah asked. "Tha three of 'em stole yer car?"

"Dat wasn' their idea, actually," Da smiled. "Liam and Ryan suggested it and yer three thought it sounded like a good fuckin' idea."

"Spent a night in jail over dat mess," Patrick muttered.

"Ally was tha trouble-maker though," Da smirked. "She knew 'ow ta deflect tha blame. Lord only knows 'ow much she got away wit'. A wee devil in angel's skin, dat's wot she is. Little heathens, tha lot o' 'em."

"Kept ye two on yer toes," Noah smirked. "Ma always said dat we three would get a taste o' our medicine."

"Foul women, cursed us, she did," Da snickered. "I see dat innocent look ye're makin, Devin. Don' even try it. Ye and yer bro'thers got inta yer own trouble."

I smirked at that because Da was right Liam, Ryan, and I could get into nearly as much trouble as Conn, Murph, and Ally did. Although, the latter three enjoyed causing mischief. Aunt Belle always said that they could get into trouble as easy as we all breathed. All of us could. We had turned this town on it's head more than enough times whenever the lot of us ganged together. Whether it was the boy beating up so unfortunate lad for looking at us in a disrespectful matter, or riling up our teachers. I don't know who was more relieved when we all graduated the teachers or our parents.

**Ally's Point of View**

"_You always have to be stubborn, don't you?" _

_My head whipped around as I took in my surroundings. The room I was in was like a hybrid of the three bars that had turned into my home away from home. Instead of the usual suspects behind the bar, however, was Rocco. For the first time in a very long while, he wasn't bleeding. He actually looked healthier. His eyes were bright, his hair was slightly shorter and he was smiling at me affectionately._

"_Wot are ye talkin' about, Roc?" I asked._

"_I've been there, you know," Rocco informed me. "No wonder you don't want to sleep. Have your nightmares always been this horrible?"_

"_Yes," I shook my head. "For as long as I could remember, anyway."_

"_You know I don't blame you for what happened," Rocco told me firmly. "I'm a big boy. I made my decision and despite what you and your brothers' think I knew what I was getting into. You guys made it so my life could mean something."_

"_But, ye're dead," I whispered._

"_Allison, listen to me," Rocco ordered. "I rather be dead then still be alive and be the Yakavetta's package boy. I made a stand. I died so that you three could continue what you need to do. You're works not finished, Ally, not by a long shot."_

"_I know," I frowned._

"_Lay low for another week or two," Rocco suggested. "Then get back to work. Fuck what that fed think. You guys are smart enough to know how to cover your tracks."_

"_I miss you, Rocco," I whispered. "You look good."_

"_I miss you too, Allison," Rocco smiled. "I'll see you around here. Or at least I'll try to get to you before those Lorenzo nightmares do."_

_Rocco came around the bar and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me from my seat as I wrapped my arms around his waist, listening to his heart beating. And it was beating, but in a way that said that it was beating because I wanted it to be, not because he was alive. Still I felt comforted in a way that I haven't experienced from anyone else other than family and Van. It was nice._

"_Watch out for them, okay?" Rocco pleaded._

"_Always have."_

For the first time in months, I actually woke up after my brothers, and slept through all the alarms that we had set up. When I had showered and changed into clean clothing I made my way into the kitchen to find Ma, Da, Conn, and Murph, sitting around the kitchen table just chatting.

"…And then do ye know wot they did?" Ma asked Da. "They looked at me like they were wee angels, wit' scrapes and bloody noses with tha broken coffee table and lamp all 'round 'em. Me poor livin room was destroyed. Fer some reason dat was where they always fought. The living room, or their room. Sometimes in the fields outside, which always sent the dogs into a damn frenzy."

"Well, look who finally decided ta wake up," Ma grinned, her voice carrying easily into the living room as I walked into the kitchen, leaning against the wall.

"No more nightmares?" Murphy asked.

"Only tha one," I grinned.

"'Bout time," Ma smiled. "Ya hungry, dear?"

"No, I'm alright, Ma," I replied slipping into my seat.

"I've heard a lot o' stories o' ye three," Da shook his head.

"Dat sounds forebodin," I snickered.

"Apparently Uncle Pat and Uncle Sibeal told 'im all their favorite stories," Connor explained.

"Then Ma started in," Murphy shook his head. "Makes us sound like we did nothin but cause trouble."

"Well, we had ta plan some o' our pranks," I responded. "It ain't as easy as it looks."

"Ain' dat tha truth," Da laughed.

"Now, don' ye go encouraging 'em, Noah," Ma reproached smacking Da's arm. "I told ye dat they seem ta 'ave studied wot ye and yer bro'thers did and then wrote their own."

"It's a horrible thing when the students surpass tha master," Da laughed.

Ma scowled as the lot of us burst into laughter. She started mumbling something about suddenly having four children instead of three. As she wandered over to check the oven, where lunch was cooking, she began ranting about how her tits were dangling by her ankles and it was all our fault.

I smiled as I leaned back into my chair. While I doubted that other families had the issues or the day job the MacManus family had, we were at the heart of everything a normal family. Bickering siblings, loving parents, and enough scrappin to make things interesting. I watched as Connor and Murphy bickered over something or another as Da lit a cigar.

Maybe it was the fact that I had a good dream, the first good dream in the longest time, but for now everything seemed peaceful. Of course, nothing stayed peaceful for long. When the phone began to ring, I thought nothing of it, as I got up from my seat and picked up the receiver.

"'Ello," I greeted.

"Ally," Devin squeaked. Her voice sounded off somehow. Thick and staggered like she was trying to hold back tears.

"Dev?" I whispered. "Wot is it?"

"It's Ro," Devin whimpered. "Oh, god, Ally, Ry found 'er in the alley behind tha Anvil."

"Found 'er?" I repeated. "I thought tha Anvil was closed today."

"She was doin inventory or somethin'," Devin sighed. "Someone damn near killed 'er."

"Killed 'er?" I gasped. "Devin, wot tha fuck happened?"

"Allison, wot's goin on?" Da demanded as I noticed the others had gathered around me. Each with varying degrees of worry and concern.

"She's in tha fuckin' hospital," Devin explained. "She hasn't woken up yet."

"Jaysus," I grimaced.

"Jus' get 'ere," Devin ordered. "Aunt Nora's and me Ma are losin their minds. Bren, Finn, Kenny, Li, and Ry, are out fer blood. This is all me fault."

"None o' this is yer fuckin' fault, Devin," I retorted sharply. "IRA?"

"O' course," Devin growled. "Fuckin' assholes are gonna pay fer this."

"Wot tha fuck is goin on?" Connor demanded.

I smacked Murphy upside the head as he grabbed the phone from my hands. After a quick word, the color in Murphy's face drained as he passed the phone to Ma. I watched Ma's face carefully as she listened to what Devin had to say. It was only until Ma hung up the telephone did her normally hard veneer crack. Tears filled her eyes as she turned to look at Da.

"Me Belle, wot is it?" Da whispered.

"Rowan's in tha hospital," Ma said. "Dev found 'er a hour ago."

"Murph, Ally, can I speak wit ye two fer a moment?" Connor asked.

"Ye three meet us at tha hospital," Da ordered. "Come on, Belle."

We watched as Ma and Da quickly pulled on their coats before quickly leaving, shutting the front door behind them. The second the door closed Connor, Murphy and I turned to look at one another.

"Ye two mind tellin me wot tha fuck is goin on?" Connor growled. "Why is Ro in tha hospital?"

"IRA was settlin a score," I sighed. "Dev thinks it's 'er fault. Dat they were waitin fer 'er and got Ro instead."

"Jaysus Christ," Connor hissed. "We're gonna kill 'em all."

I shuddered at the steely determination in Connor and Murphy's gazes, knowing that my eyes were no doubt mirroring the fiery intensity. It was bad enough that they had been shaking down Devin for money. But to target the youngest MacManus and beat her severely enough to land her in the hospital was a step to far. The very reason why we hadn't begun to deliver people because we were worried about our families being targets. That plan had backfired, leaving me to wonder if we had been doing what we were called to do the entire time we were home if this situation would've ever arose.

"Two days," Connor snarled. "Then tha lot o' 'em are gonna ta die."

* * *

_**Author's Note: Longest chapter yet, huzzah! Wanna make it the most reviewed chapter yet? *nudge, nudge* Just kidding, well, not really. But review or not, it's okay. I really liked this chapter with all the random memories. I hope you all felt the same way.**_

_**Love,**_

_**Beccatdemon13  
**_


	11. Retribution and Absolution

**Chapter Eleven: Retribution and Absolution**

The MacManus family stood united on many fronts. But there were divisions by immediate family, sliding down into triplets/twin loyalty, and watching out for the younger ones in the case of Devin and Rowan. Here in the waiting room was a division that I hadn't seen since GrandDa O'Reilly (Ma's Da) had passed. All the mothers were clustered together, so were the fathers. All the boys were in the corner of the waiting room, plotting something. Leaving Devin and I together.

I could hear Ma and Aunt Lucy comforting Aunt Nora. Da and my Uncles were discussing legalities, while the boys were talking only about retribution. I wonder just how much fuel Connor and Murphy were adding to that particular fire. If they stirred it up too much Bren, Finn, and Kenny would be out for blood. They were already angry, and with good reason, who could do this to Rowan of all people? We were going to be taking out the IRA in less than forty-eight hours; Da knew it, my Uncles knew it, my brothers and I knew it. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if my cousins knew it too.

I watched Devin out of the corner of my eye, frowning in the obvious distress written in every line of her face. She clutched her rosary tightly in her hands, her lips moving quickly as she rattled off prayer after prayer.

"Stop it, Dev," Liam chided, gently prying the rosary from her fingers. "Rowan's gonna be alright."

I ha been so lost in my own thoughts that I hadn't even seen Liam approach.

"S'all me fault," Devin whispered, "it shoulda been me not Ro. Jaysus, who could even do dat ta 'er?"

"Don' say somethin' like dat, Devin," Liam growled. "T'was not yer fuckin fault. No one 'ere blames ya. Rowan won' blame ya. 'Ell she'll probably try to talk us out of defendin 'er."

"She's always offered forgiveness easily," Connor said.

"Aye," Murphy agreed. "Though she don' 'ave ta offer nothin' since ye 'aven't done anythin wrong."

Connor and Murphy dropped into seats on either side of me as Liam led Devin out of the room. I watched as Ryan looked up from his conversation with Kennedy, the concern in his gaze was overwhelming as he met his twin and little sister at the door, before they all walked through it.

Veritas and Aequitas…truth and justice. Connor and Murphy had rested their hands on either one of my knees, a gesture meant to comfort overshadowed by the reality of the tattooed words. How could someone do this to Rowan? Who could be tha hateful to attack someone whose only crime was who she happened to be related to.

"Wot's wrong, Murph?" I whispered noticing his stormy look.

"This is our fault," Murphy mumbled. When Connor and I moved to disagreed he wave us off. "If we had never taken a fuckin vacation…"

"We had no idea dat this would happen," Connor retorted interrupting Murphy as the former glared at the latter.

"Rowan's lucky she wasn't killed," I sighed.

"Listen ta me, tha both o' ye," Connor growled firmly, his eyes becoming steely and unyielding. "Tha only ones responsible fer this are tha ones who did it. This is not our fuckin fault. We are gonna kill 'em all and make sure nothin like this happens again."

I was inclined to argue that no matter how many people we delivered, we couldn't possibly prevent this from happening again. It was testament to how corrupt people were. How they were willing to do whatever they had to make sure that people stayed out of their way. I was intelligent enough, however, to not voice that little opinion aloud, not when Connor had a look in his eye, enough to rival Ma's don't-even-try-it look. It was the glare that we saw frequently when we were younger and fussed about dressing up for church. That one look from Ma was enough to have us quiet and changing into our church clothes.

I kept my eye on Murphy who still looked like he was about to fly off the handle at any moment. His jaw was clenched tight and he was unnaturally still. Our entire life Murphy was the one who was constantly moving, no matter what he was doing, awake or asleep he was in motion. Murphy moved: fidgeting, smoking, gnawing on his thumbnail, and shaking his leg, flailing in his sleep. He was constantly scolded for squirming in Church or in school. He got slightly better as we grew older but not by much. The fact remained that he rather be moving than not.

The fact that he chose this moment to be still set off every warning flag I ever had. With a glance in Connor's direction I could tell he was just as worried as I was. Somehow things had gotten so much more serious. All this time I was worried about our family paying the cost of what my brothers and I chose to do, instead they had been targeted regardless.

It was almost as if someone had made Conn and Murph swap bodies. Murph was calm and still and Connor was the bundle of nerves. Still Conn hadn't lost his bossiness or the ability to get Murph and I to do what he wanted.

Just when I thought things in this room couldn't get any more tense, a high itched shriek reverberated through the floor. The receptionists startled, one dropping the phone, another dropped a stack of papers. Seconds later a 'yellow' alert was announced over the loud speaker.

"Well Ro's awake," Finn mumbled. "She's gonna be pissed she's in a fuckin' hospital."

"Sounds like," Brendan shook his head.

Rowan might be pissed that she had woken up in a hospital but she had been beaten half to death. No amount of irons or stitches would help if she had internal bleeding or her brain was somehow damaged. The risk that there was something even worse than the surface injuries had left us with no other choice, landing her in the ER as a result.

"Come on, Darlin'," Da whispered exchanged significant looks with Connor and Murphy. "Let's go 'ome. Ye'll come back tomorrow."

I didn't have the energy to argue, instead I followed after my parents and brothers pausing to say goodbye to the rest of the family before climbing into the back seat of the car. Despite the somber situation I was reminded of childhood. Connor and Murphy had always bullied me into the middle seat. Ma had refused to let one of us sit up front with her because she knew that where ever we were going would be spent arguing about why so-and-so got to be in the front seat.

It seemed like I was going to be only getting one night of decent sleep. My mind was too wired to even pretend like I was getting to sleep anytime soon. As soon as visiting hours had opened I was walking through ICU.

Seeing Ro in the hospital like that stirred up all kinds of bad memories. She looked so young, so fragile, so broken. Her typically fair complexion seemed all the more pale under the harsh florescent lighting. The cuts and deep black and purple bruises only made things worse. I sighed as I pushed quietly through the door and sat down in the chair next to her bed. Somehow hospitals managed to seem exactly the same. And I wish that it would be possible to never step foot in one again. Though, I'd rather be shot again and again than see the state that some bastard had left Rowan in.

"Ally?" Rowan stirred. Her normally vibrant eyes were dull and glassy as she blinked blearily at me.

"Hey, Ro," I replied. "'Ow are ye feeling?"

"Like I got me arse kicked," Rowan smirked.

"Hilarious Ro, I fergot wot a comedian ye are," I rolled my eyes. "Did ye see who did this ta ye?"

"'E went ta school wit' us," Rowan sighed. "I can' remember 'is name."

"True IRA?" I growled.

"Aye," Rowan shrugged, then wincing the next breath whooshing out painfully. "'E said dat he wanted ta send Fergal some company. 'E heard tha MacManus women were good fucks."

"Oh, he'll be getting plenty o' fucking company," I retorted darkly.

"Ally, don'," Rowan protested, reaching out and snagging my sleeve "They're dangerous. I'll be fine jus' let it go."

"Rowan, ye and I both know dat tha last thing our family is gonna do is let somethin like this go."

"Figured there was no harm in askin'," Rowan mumbled.

"'Ello Ro, ye look better this mornin," Murphy smiled. He and Connor walked into the room. Both hugging her gently and kissing her forehead.

"Ye're full o' shite, Murph," Rowan scoffed.

Connor and I laughed at Murphy's dumbstruck expression. When they had left for the states, Rowan was very much the quiet, polite one. Preferring to let the others handle things for her. Ro wasn't much for violence, sure if we forced her hand by scrapping, she gave as good as she got. But when it came to people outside of the family, she just took whatever abuse came her way, until Bren, Finn, or Kenny stepped in and reminded people exactly who Rowan was. Ro was also quiet she talked, of course, just not as much as our incredibly boisterous family. Granted it was sometimes difficult to get a word in edgewise, which was how things quickly turned into shouting matches as people tried to get their opinions and voices heard. She had just started changing when the three of us had left Ireland. Obviously things had changed, working at the Anvil had been good for her.

"There's a good lass," Connor praised, laughing. "Ye're gonna be jus' fine."

"Why thank ye, Doctor MacManus," Rowan snickered, wincing once more at the jarring movement that laughter brought. "And here I though I was gonna be trapped in this bloody fuckin' room fer tha rest o' me life."

"Don' ye go and get dramatic, Rowan," Brendan reproached, leaning against the threshold of the door.

"Piss off, Bren," Rowan chirped, cheerfully.

"Ooh, cranky this morning are we?" Brendan shook his head. "Good mornin' Conn, Murph, Ally."

"'Ello Bren," We all replied.

"'Ow are ye?" Brendan asked.

"Fine," Connor replied, answering for all of us. "'Ow are things at home?"

"Ma's still dealin' wit' everythin," Brendan shrugged. "And Da's tryin ta figure out who was dumb enough ta do this."

"They're not gonna get away wit' it," Murphy promised.

"Aye," Brendan responded.

We stayed around Ro's room for another hour or two before we excused ourselves. Walking home was a quiet affair, the three of us lost in our own thoughts. Rowan was going to be okay, which was something, at least. Going home, we walked around our house and into the barn, where all our guns lay waiting out on the table. There was something new added to the set-up, blueprints of the dock were spread out.

"What's this then?" Connor questioned.

Blue prints of the dock," I said. "And this is when they're supposed to be there and how many o' 'em are supposed to be there."

"Figured ye three might need ta be organized," Da shrugged.

His voice drew our attention from the new information to the door of the barn where Da was.

"Ye comin' wit' us, Da?" Murphy asked.

"I think ye three can handle it," Da replied. "I just didn' want ye ta go in blind."

"Thank ye, Da," Connor smirked.

We divided up the information, so that we'd all know what was going on. Connor kept the map, organizing the best course of action. Murphy was reading up on the men who were going to be there. It turns out some of the higher ups would be there to make sure everything went according to plan. I was studying shipping schedules, seeing actually where these guns were going. Some were going to Boston but the majority were going to New York.

When the hit was done, I was going to have to call Smecker and warn him about all the guns were finding their way into the States. Who knew how long they had been doing this. I straightened up as Connor, Murphy, and I walked back to the house. We took turns showering before changing into black turtle necks, to hide all of our tattoos, jeans, boots and then our holsters. I grabbed my guns sliding them in before putting on my gloves and pea coat.

After we were all ready we took the car driving towards the port. When we were close enough we ditched the car, hiding it the best we could before walking on foot the rest of the way. The sun was beginning to set as we moved into the shadows, biding our time. It was nearly midnight by the time everyone from the IRA arrived at the boat. The oil dromes had been loading fairly steadily for the past two hours and they were just waiting on something.

With a look to Connor and Murphy, we began to move out of the shadows. Our silencers allowed us to dispatch the people who were here for security purposes first. Moving through one room to another we killed anyone who was IRA, which was basically everyone at this time of night.

Everything had been going according to plan, I stayed on the inside moving around the warehouse, while Connor and Murphy went onto the docks, making their way towards the boats. I thanked my fast reaction time, keeping me step ahead of the marks, allowing me to shoot them before they could even get their gun out to shoot me. A few of the men were fast enough to fire bullets, some of them too close for comfort but they hadn't found their target and I continued to move from room to room, making sure that no one was left.

When I was certain I had completed my part of the job, I breathed a sigh of relief, crossing myself and sending up a quick prayer that my brothers were as successful as I was. It was then I heard the most terrifying sound. A gunshot from an unsilenced gun followed by a splash and then I heard Connor shout, "Murph!"

My heart dropped into my stomach as I began to sprint over to the docks. Both Connor and Murphy had managed to get onto the boats. Connor had his grip on someone, gun to the man's temple, eyes black with rage as he looked down into the water searching for Murphy. I scanned the water and when I saw Murphy surface, I shed my holster and pea coat, diving into the freezing water without a second thought.

The water was just as cold as I remembered, colder even. It felt like thousands of knives were stabbing me, stealing my breath away as I swam to my brother. My movements were hindered by the weight of the wet clothes but I wasn't about to stop my swim towards Murphy.

It was concerning to see how still Murphy was, bobbing up and down the frigid water. He was completely unresponsive as I shouted for him. I grabbed him by the collar, taking a moment to look him over. His eyes were unfocused as they looked over to me. I didn't have time to worry, thanking God that he was still breathing as I grabbed him by the collar of his pea coat before swimming back towards the dock. In the time that it took to get Murphy, Connor had killed the last person before running down to the dock.

Connor first grabbed Murphy out of the water, laying him on the dock before helping me out. The clothes stuck to my body, slowing my movements, and freezing me to the bone. None of that was a concern of mine as Murphy continued to hack and cough, spitting out seawater. Connor had rolled him to his side, so that Murph couldn't choke on the water as he continued to cough. When his head lolled in exhaustion, Connor and I moved quickly, shedding him of his turtleneck and peacoat.

I gasped when I noticed the rather deep graze along Murphy's side and he had another bullet wound in his leg. Connor stripped off his own shirt putting pressure on the graze while I pulled off Murphy's belt looping it around his thigh before cinching it tightly. I became even more worried when Murphy didn't react at all to that, I knew personally that tourniquets hurt like a bitch, especially when it was tied as tight as I had tied that belt.

"Ally, go get tha car," Connor ordered. "Go!"

I didn't bother arguing, grabbing the car keys and sprinted towards where we ditched the car. When I got in, I didn't bother with the lights or fiddling with the mirrors or anything, choosing instead to floor it through the back roads. There were no one else around as I drove the car straight into the warehouse, and onto the dock, screeching to a halt. I threw open backdoor as I ran to meet Connor and Murphy. They hadn't moved from where they were when I had left but the situation hadn't become any better during my absence.

In the short time that I was gone, Murphy had slipped into unconsciousness. What was particularly worrisome, was the fact that the blood was still flowing profusely. I bit my lip as I helped bring Murphy into the backseat, climbing in after him. Connor jumped into the front seat, after making sure that any and all blood that was ours, had been diluted with ammonia. The palm crosses had been abandoned, we were too worried about Murphy. His skin was cold to the touch, and the wounds wouldn't stop bleeding. My heart was racing, my hands were covered in my brother's blood as I attempted to staunch the flow. The wound on his side was particularly nasty and it seemed that no amount of pressure was enough to get the bleeding to stop.

I bit my lip as I tried not to think about how much of my brother's blood was covering me instead of flowing through his veins. My blood slicked hands pressed down harder on Murphy's side, wishing that there was some reaction, a whimper, a curse, anything to let us know that he was okay.

"Drive faster, Connor," I hissed.

"Oi, I'm drivin as fast as I fuckin' can," Connor retorted sharply. "We just killed a lot o' people, incase ye forgot."

Connor's furious gaze in the rearview mirror kept me from saying another word as I focused my attention on Murphy. With the heat cranked up as high as it could go, the color was going back into his skin. But, he was still unconscious. It was only when we were home did the wounds finally stopped bleeding.

"Da!" Connor shouted, not even bothering to get out of the car before he started shouting. "Da, come quick!"

"Wot is it?" Da demanded, meeting us at the front door, where Connor had pulled the car up as close to the house as he could manage.

"Murph's 'urt real bad, Da," Connor explained, his voice filled with barely masked panic as he leapt out of the car. "We were surprised when we got on the fuckin' boat. Didn' see tha bastards comin."

The backdoor was thrown open as Da looked down at Murphy. I had to admire Da's restraint with masking his emotions. While Connor and I were panicked and ready to do whatever we could to save our brother, Da was more precise, looking him over before ordering Connor to help him bring Murphy inside.

"'E's gonna be alright son," Da soothed as they carried Murphy into the side. "Belle, tha ferst aid kit!"

"Get 'im on the table, ye eejiit," Ma ordered Da brusquely.

The dining room table had been cleared of its normal decorations as Murphy lay on top of it, stripped down to his boxers. Directly to Murphy's side lay the family's rather extensive first aid kit. I noticed the lack of an iron and tilted my head in confusion. As Ma wandered into the room, I saw that she had a needle and thread. Connor and Da were directly behind her watching as she quickly stitched Murphy up, explaining that since the bleeding was beginning to slow, it wasn't necessary to cauterize the wound.

She told us that the only reason why we'd ever need the iron was in a desperate situation where the blood was flowing too much. When she was done, she told Da and Connor to set Murphy in front of the fire and wrap him in blankets. The fact that Murph had yet to wake up was slightly concerning, but neither Ma nor Da seemed all that worried.

"If 'e wakes up, get 'im some tea, will ye, love?" Ma asked before she went to bed, knowing neither Connor nor I would be sleeping until we were 100% sure that Murphy would be alright.

"Aye," I agreed.

I sat beside him with Connor on the other side pretending to watch TV, waiting for Murphy to wake up. It was around three in the morning when Murphy finally began to stir. Connor had drifted off an hour or two ago but he needed his rest and I was already adapted to working with little to no sleep.

"Wot's goin on?" Murphy asked blearily. "Jaysus, it's fuckin hot in 'ere."

He struggled to wiggle out from the blankets cocoon, his face screwed up in concentration before all movement ceased and he bit back a pained gasp.

"Murph?" I demanded. "Ye alright?"

"Aye," Murphy replied after a few seconds. "Me side 'urts somethin' fuckin' awful."

"Dat's wot happens when ye get shot," I rolled my eyes. "Can get ye some painkillers?"

"Will ye?" Murphy whispered.

I bit my lip as I rose to my feet heading over to where the first aid kit still lay, pulling out the bottle of painkillers and putting two in my hand. I poured a glass of water before I brought them both over to Murphy, who had finally managed to wiggle free from all the blankets.

"Thanks, Ally," Murphy smiled.

I nodded my head as I sat back besides him. I knew how much pain he had to have been in to have asked for the painkillers. Normally we had to shove it down his throat, or hide them in his food. Connor was no better. Honestly, it must've been a boy thing, but having been shot myself, I knew exactly how much it hurt. Although, getting it burned shut hurt a hell of a lot more. I wondered how the stitches felt. Still, they normally never admitted that they were hurt and most of the time people were inclined to believe them, unless you knew what to look for. Both Connor and Murphy got moody when they were hurt and extremely short tempered. Their movements also became more deliberate as they thought about what movement (walking, sitting, etc) was really necessary.

"Ye're starin," Murphy reproached, tapping the side of my face. "Ye alright?"

"Ye're tha one who got shot, Murph," I scoffed.

"Aye," Murphy replied. "But, ye're tha one who waited up fer me. I scared ye dat badly?"

"Ye did," I whispered.

"Aw, come on, Ally, tis just a scratch," Murphy laughed.

"Ye were bleedin' pretty fuckin' badly, Murphy," I frowned. "Ye didn't stop bleedin till we finally got ye home."

"Jaysus, ye two never stop, do ye?" Connor complained, yawning widely.

"Sorry, sleepin beauty," Murphy smirked.

"Shut it, Murph," Connor mumbled. "Let's get up ta bed, huh? This couch is more fuckin uncomfortable than I remembered."

"Aye," Murphy agreed.

Together the three of us went up to our bedroom, collapsing into our respective beds and falling back asleep. It was relatively late the next morning when we woke up again, the new day bringing to light exactly how injured we all were. Murphy was by far the most hurt but Connor and I had our fair share of scrapes and bruises. Someone had punched Connor, leaving him with a fat lip. But none of that mattered because we were all okay, and we had protected the family.

"We 'ave ta stop," I announced suddenly as I was waiting for my water to boil for tea.

"Wot are ye talkin about?" Murphy asked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"This whole thing, we 'ave ta stop," I clarified. "Listen ta Smecker."

"We promised Rocco we wouldn't stop," Connor said.

"I promised Rocco that I wouldn't let ye two get 'urt," I retorted. "Please, just let us take a wee break?"

I watched on as Connor and Murphy exchanged glances before they turned back towards me and nodded in agreement. We were going on a break, only coming out of it if another family member or one of us were threatened directly. Until the whole Saints of South Boston business died down it was in our best interest to lay low. But, who knew exactly how long we'd have to lay low for. There were composites of us, and while Smecker had done his best to get them out of the public eye, they were still available. Those composites would keep us from going back to the States for quiet sometime.

* * *

_**Author's Note: Well, that took forever! I'm sorry I just couldn't get the chapter to go the way I wanted it to go until it finally began to work with me. I hope you liked it, review? I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed or alerted this story, you guys are awesome! I also have a new Boondock story up called Baptism of Fire, you guys should check it out, I'm rather proud of it.**_

_**Have a nice day,**_

_**Beccatdemon13  
**_


	12. Welcome to the Jungle

**Chapter Twelve: ****Welcome to the Jungle**

**Two Years Later: Concezio Yakavetta's Point of View**

**South Boston, Massachusetts**

"_Patience, nephew mine, you need to have a little patience," Uncle Lorenzo whispered._

_My hazel eyes didn't leave my father's lowering coffin as I nodded my head in response to my Uncle's urging. He was my father's little brother, how could he even be suggesting patience at a time like this? _

"Concezio, wake up!"

I jerked away, staring at my younger sister Gabrielle in a mixture of irritation and gratitude.

"Thanks, Gabs," I whispered.

"Same nightmare?" Gabrielle questioned.

"No," I shook my head. "Just remembering something."

"Daddy?" Gabrielle whispered.

"Yeah," I frowned.

Gabrielle had only been sixteen at the time of the trail. She had watched as four people stormed into open court, ranting and raving about delivering evil people, before they put our father on his knees. Murdering him in a courtroom filled with family members and so-called victims of my father's business.

For as long as I could remember, my family had been in the mafia, one of the off shoots of the Italian mob. I was no stranger to violence, having been groomed to take over the family business whenever my father handed over the reins. But, to see my father die at the hands of these so called Saints was more than I could bare. My Uncle Lorenzo had been visiting during all of this. He didn't go to the trail so he didn't know what had happened until he saw the news.

Lorenzo had barely reacted, disappearing down the hallway and into Dad's study. When he came out he said very little. Ever since the night that Dad and Lorenzo had almost killed the Saints, things had been different. Dad had been arrested and Lorenzo got all the more violent.

His face would forever serve as a memory of that night. Nearly everyone at the house that night had been murdered. Except for Lorenzo who had been found unconscious in one of the guest rooms, two deep scratches ran down the length of his face. Lorenzo had taken over the family until I was out of college, and could take over the responsibilities.

Now two years later we were still trying to rebuild the Yakavetta legacy. Between Uncle Lorenzo and I had been working steadily to rebuild my father's legacy. Only when things were functioning the way they should have been, could I focus on dragging the Saints back to South Boston. They had been all over the United States before they fell of the grid, vanishing completely.

"_Patience, nephew mine, you need to have a little patience," Uncle Lorenzo whispered._

I had searched high and low for them, all the patience in the world wasn't going to make the Saints surface. After breakfast, I walked into the office, jumping when the door slammed open seconds after I sat down.

"I have an idea," Lorenzo smirked. "I don't know why we've been waiting for those damn Saints to surface."

"Uncle?" I questioned, curiously.

"If we can't find the Saints, then we'll bring them to us," Lorenzo grinned, wolfishly.

"How?" I asked.

"Kill a priest," Lorenzo smirked. "Kill a priest and make it look like it was them. Those bible thumpers will come running and that's when we'll kill them. You can kill the men, as long as I get the bitch."

"No one is going to kill a priest," I whispered.

"Don't you worry about a thing, nephew, I've got it handled."

**Allison's Point of View**

The Saints had been dead for nearly two years. After the IRA hit, Connor, Murphy, and I decided that we'd honor Smecker's request to lay low. We had buried anything that could remind us of that night and everything else that had happened. This time when we buried the chest, we knew that we wouldn't be digging it up.

Not for a few years at least. Things had gotten bad around a year ago. Investigations were held in the South Boston Police Department. The powers that be thought that we couldn't have possibly have gotten away without assistance, which was true. But, it still put pressure on the people who had helped us. Dolly, Duffy, and Greenly, and especially Agent Smecker.

I would always have a soft spot for that Special Agent, but now most of my feelings were tinged with sadness. Agent Smecker had died in the field a little less than six months ago. He had died working another mob hit. A copy cat Saint was running amok, causing a lot of trouble for Smecker, but the copy cat had messed up, gotten skittish, and Smecker had paid the price.

It was those kind of phone calls that I dreaded from the States. Hell, any and all calls from the States were grounds for concern. It was simply too expensive to just place a call because you felt like it. No, there was always a reason.

Surprisingly, Connor, Murphy, Da, and I had adjusted well to civilian life. Connor and Murphy had joined the rest of the boys, working on the sheep farm. I worked at the Anvil with Ro and Devin. Da did a little bit of everything, he spent a lot of time with Ma, worked on the farm, and helped out the entire family. It was an average bustling night at the Anvil. It was just as busy, if not busier, than it had always been. The entire family was there and the atmosphere was lively. It was nights like this that made me happy to be home.

"Ally, phone fer ye!" Devin called.

"Who?" I asked.

"Van," Devin said.

I picked up the alternate phone in the back, waiting until the main phone hung up before I spoke, "Van?"

"Ally," Van sighed. "Somethin's happened."

"Wot do ye mean somethin' happened?" I demanded. "Van, wot is it?"

"Things 'ave gotten bad 'ere, Ally, the Yakavetta's are gainin ground," Van explained. "They're stronger then they were wit' Poppa Joe runnin' 'em."

"Van, I…"

"Allison!" Connor yelled seconds before the back door opened. "Allison, we all need ta go 'ome. Uncle Sibeal said 'e had somethin' important ta tell us."

"Conn, it's Van," I whispered.

"Oi, Van, ye should be ashamed o' yerself," Connor scolded, snagging the phone from me. "Ye don call, ye don' write?"

"Ah, fuck ye, MacManus," Van chuckled good naturedly.

"Van, I'll call ye back, okay?" Connor asked. "We need ta be gettin 'ome. Family meeting and all dat."

"Connor, jus' call me back as soon as ya can, it's important," Van stressed.

"I'll talk ta ye soon" Connor swore. He hung up the phone and gestured for me to follow him.

I was concerned as Connor barely said a word on the way out to the car. And the fact that the car was here made me even more nervous. We almost always walked from the Anvil to our house and back, it was too close to waste the gas. I hopped into the passenger seat as Connor gunned the engine back to our house.

I couldn't help but think of what Van had told me about Southie and the fact that both Van and Sibeal both had something to tell us. Walking into the house felt different than all the other times. Normally the house was loud, at all hours of the night. This time, though, it was oddly silent.

Connor and I walked into the kitchen, sitting down on either side of Murphy as we regarded Uncle Sibeal curiously.

"Something happened in Boston last night," Uncle Sibeal began. "I have friends in the diocese there. A priest was murdered, Saints style."

All was silent for a moment as the news sunk in. Was that what Van had to tell us? That someone murdered a priest and left our calling card? The rage in the air was a near physical entity as we all fought to control our anger.

"Wot?" Connor, Murphy, and I growled at once.

"The priest, did they release his name?" Murphy asked.

"Father Douglas McKinney," Uncle Sibeal replied.

We all exchanged a look. "You knew him?" Uncle Sibeal questioned.

"Aye," Connor responded. "Everyone did. A regular Mother Theresa. Youth Hostels, soup kitchens."

"'E even made it inta tha papers sometimes," Murphy explained.

"Listen," Uncle Sibeal leaned forward, his eyes flickering towards Da before staring at the three of us "I think it's best dat ya jus' stay put and we'll try ta figure out wot…"

Without looking towards one another, Connor, Murphy, and I pushed back to the table, walking out of the house and into the barn. Connor tossed Murphy a shovel as I stepped back to give them space. It became apparent that we weren't supposed to take a break. Our mission hadn't been completed. So, unless we wanted to keep burying and digging up this chest, we had to come to terms with it. We couldn't stop, not now, maybe not ever.

Once Connor and Murphy dug the chest back up, and threw it on the old work table. Opening the chest once more, we pulled out our guns, rosaries, and all the American currency we had taken on various hits. I kept myself busy, counting the money as Connor and Murphy showered before changing into their typical dark tee shirt, jeans, construction boots, and pea coat outfit.

"Now lads, Ally, I really must insist dat we wait on this," Uncle Sibeal reproached. "We don' even know wot this is yet. Somebody could jus' be tryin' ta get away wit' murder here."

"Aye," Da agreed. "Only there's about a thousand easier ways t'do dat. Trust me. Someone's callin' them out , Sibeal. Ya kill a priest, in a church, and make it look like it was 'em. Ye bring 'em back wit' a vengeance. Don't know who. Don't know why. But someone thinks e's real fuckin' clever. Only one problem wit' his little plan."

"What's dat?"

"It worked," Da smirked.

"Jaysus Christ, Noah!" Sibeal barked. "D'er's too much we don' know. This is ridiculous. Wot do ye three intend ta do?"

Silence reigned as we all looked at one another before Connor withdrew a hand from one of his pockets and looked down. He flipped a penny on the table, five pairs of eyes watched as the currency clattered to a stop.

"Every last motherfucker dat had anythin' ta do wit' it," Murphy answered.

"Say g'bye ta yer Ma," Da ordered. "Lord knows if ye leave wit' out tellin 'er the rest o' us will hear bout it fer years ta come."

Following Da's order we found Ma upstairs folding laundry. She didn't seem surprised as we told her what happened. She was angry that someone had murdered a priest just to lure us back. Putting down one of the shirts she was folding she ordered us to pack some clothing, while she made some sandwiches. Then Da and Ma would drive us to the docks. Uncle Patrick had called in a favor with his old friend, Killian Farris. In exchange for work, he would let us travel back to the States for free.

I had never had the pleasure of meeting Killian Farris, he apparently like his boat a little too much. Even going so far as to name the boat after himself. After saying goodbye to our parents, Killian snuck us onto the boat, showing us a place between two stacks of freights, creating a little room. Killian told us that we could open the freights if we wanted to, for some extra cover when we were sleeping or wanted some privacy.

The first day passed by with little incident. We worked stacking grain with the other stowaways. I was one of the only girls on the ship and the only girl who worked stacking heavy bags of grain. We were given work cover-alls, of which I only wore the pants part, choosing to wear one of my brothers' old wife beaters on top.

"They're brawlin in the hold!" A deck hand shouted on the third day. "Better get your bets in now!"

I exchanged looks with Connor and Murphy before we moved into the ship's hold. It was nuts in there, people were moving equipment back and money was waving everywhere as people shouted bets. In the middle of the ring of people were two men. One was a giant, every visible inch of him was solid muscle. There was violence in those eyes as he glared at the Mexican man before him. The Mexican was significantly smaller and less muscled than the other one. With wild, bulging hazel eyes. He had a pony tail with the sides shaved off. So, it was like a cross between a Mohawk and a mullet. The most noticeable difference between the two men were that the Mexican's hands were tied behind his back.

"Why are his hands chained?" Connor asked, grabbing the person who told us about the brawl's arm.

"Romeo's fast, man," The deckhand grinned. "He says the Frenchman can't lay a hand on him."

"But he can't hit 'im back," Murphy retorted.

"That's the bet," The deckhand shrugged. "He's gotta last five minutes.

With a quick exchange of looks the three of us each whipped out money and handed it to the deck hand. "Fifty on the Mexican," We exclaimed.

I watched as the Mexican taunted the other man ducking away from punches with ease.

"Get outta the way!" The Mexican yelled running straight towards a freight he jumped up, pushing one foot off the freight only to land back on the ground with his hands bound in front of him. Intrigued, I walked closer, close enough to hear what he was saying.

"Don't be scared," The Mexican mocked. "Remember I can't hit ya. I ain't gonna hit ya." He avoided even more punches. "Ain't gonna hit ya. Ain't gonna…"

In the middle of his sentence the Mexican lunged grabbing his opponent's wrist, wrapping the chains around it as he kicked the larger man's stomach, bringing him to his knees. Before the bigger man could even get a breath, he was trapped in a scissor hold.

"Ooh, found a loophole, bitch," The Mexican whooped. "Oughta be a lawyer! Got the fine print on y'ass! Pro bono! Pari Pasu! I'll knock you out on contingency, mother fucker!"

I laughed along with Connor and Murphy as the giant of a man passed out. The Mexican rose to his feet, arms above his head in victory. Without looking back, he wandered away. I watched as the Frenchmen who were obviously friends with the giant, began to follow after him. Conn and Murph saw the same thing I did, causing us to follow after them weaving through the various freights that were all over the boat. Not that the fact was surprising, after all it was a cargo boat. But that made it so it was very easy to dispatch someone, who just lost you a lot of money.

As we walked between the rows I heard the Mexican yell, "Oh, shit. Fire! Fire!"

Exchanging confused glances with Murphy, the three of us burst onto the scene, straight from the shadows, standing between the Mexican and the angry Frenchmen.

"Out of zee way!" One of them ordered.

Choosing to keep silent as my brothers tried to calm the Frenchmen down in their native language, I noticed that it wasn't working. Instead they were only getting even more angry. When the argument suddenly escalated, the men swung the metal pipes clutched in their meaty fists. With the efficiency that only years of scrapping could bring, we dispatched the two quickly. Leaving one unconscious and the other gasping for air. Turning on our heel, the Mexican backed up hands held out in front of him in a I-surrender gesture as he regarded us curiously.

"Whoa!" The Mexican gaped. "Uh, merci, uh, si vous plait."

"Jus' protectin' our investment," Murphy rolled his eyes. "Ya made us a lot of money."

"Oh, thank God," The Mexican gasped. "Irish, huh? Finally some class. I'm Romeo."

"Ally," I smiled.

"Helloo, Ally," Romeo smirked, taking my hand and kissing the back of it.

With a giggle I retracted said hand as Connor and Murphy moved slightly in front of me.

"Connor," Connor introduced. "And, dat there's Murphy."

"Why were ye yellin' fire?" Murphy asked.

"I heard you were supposed to on TV," Romeo shrugged.

"That's if you're getting' raped," I corrected.

"Oh, I'd be more inclined to go with something like, 'that doesn't go there, man!'" Romeo joked.

Romeo's grin vanished at our lack of laughter, eyeing us curiously, as the three of us offered small smiles before we walked back to our little cluster. We had managed to make a little home out of our 'room'. We had a hot plate, radio, and Murphy was fashioning a tattooing needle. I was fiddling with the radio, after climbing onto one of the freights so I could see up and out. Once I found a station I tossed the radio down to Murph, who caught it without looking and put it down.

"People are still in shock as more details on the death of Father McKinney, a beloved local clergic, comes to light. His selfless contributions to the community are too numerous to list," The radio announcer began solemnly. "In related news, second generation crime boss, Concezio Yakavetta has not commented on whether or not he fears for his own safety…"

"Yakavetta?" Connor, Murphy, and I repeated angrily.

"Tha prodigal son, huh?" Connor hissed. "'E wants us, 'e fuckin' got us."

Connor shook his head, his face stony as he put the one chair we had in the middle of the floor. He straddled the chair as Murphy checked the tattoo needle. They had gotten new ink a few months ago, they'd add onto it every so often. Murphy's back had Christ's crucified feet, while Connor's had Christ's downcast head on the cross. Murphy was going to do a little more shading on Connor's cross as I kept watch, while adding to the conversation, my legs swinging into the open freight container.

"Why would 'e do somethin' so public?" Murphy asked.

"Think about it," Connor prodded. "People figure we did it. Makes it more likely someone will drop tha dime. Way easier ta get ta us in prison, isn't it, now?"

"'Ow would anyone recognize us?" Murphy asked.

"Ye don' remember tha sketches on tha news channel?" I asked.

"Shit, dat's right," Murphy shook his head. "Y'know, every time they show those composites on TV and they catch tha lad, it looks nothin like 'im. But ours?"

"Jus' our luck. We get Leonardo fuckin' Divinci a sketch artist."

"Maybe we should dye our hair?" Murphy suggested.

Murphy missed Connor's wicked smirk, but I didn't. I shook my head as I watched the fight that was about to unfold.

"Wot?" Connor smirked.

"Yeah," Murphy nodded, looking to me to agree with him. "These guys are always dyin their hair. Y'know, like in _'The Fugitive'_. It's covert and shite."

"Wot color would ye dye it?" Connor asked.

"I don' know…lighter, I guess?" Murphy shrugged.

"Y'mean blonde?" Connor laughed.

"I didn't say dat!" Murphy retorted.

"California, surfer boy, gay, gay, gay, faggoty, blonde?" Connor laughed causing me to snicker as well.

"I'm warnin ya!" Murphy growled.

"Stay gold, Pony Boy!" Connor whooped. "Stay gold! Just keep yer hand off me arse."

"Aw, fuck ye," Murphy snarled, purposefully stabbing the needle hard into Connor's shoulder.

"Ahh!" Connor yelped, bolting to his feet knocking over to pot of hot water and pennies, as he pulled the pen out glaring at Murphy.

"Ye mother fucker!" Connor snapped. "Jaysus fuckin' Christ."

"Serves ya right," Murphy grinned.

"Wot kind o' fuckin'…?"

"I was fuckin' mad!" Murphy shrugged.

Just as the two were about to come to blows, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. It was directly under me, right by the freight doors. Gently clicking my gun's safety off, I jumped down from the top of the freight to land silently behind our eavesdropper.

"Don' move," I cautioned, jabbing the back of the man in question's head.

"Oh shit!" The man yelped loudly. Romeo?

"Fer Christ sakes," I groaned.

With a shift kick I pushed Romeo into the middle of the room gun still trained on the back of his head. Connor's head snapped towards us as would Murphy, if his head wasn't currently locked under Connor's arm. With one last noogie, Connor released him, so that both could stare at Romeo, who pointed at them before looking at the pennies.

"I know who you are," Romeo whispered. "You guys are the fuckin…"

"Shut it!" Connor interrupted.

Romeo didn't dare make any sudden movements as Murphy circled, locking the doors of the two neighboring freights to give us some privacy and prevent Romeo from running away. Wordlessly, Murphy walked back towards Connor, plucking the gun from my finger.

"Oh, this is so fucking cool, man," Romeo grinned. "I'm from Boston. I love you guys. Shit, everyone does! I mean, holy fucking shit! Maybe I could get in on this, you know? Bring some La Raza to this thing? Spice it up a little? Although you've already got a firecracker."

I rolled my eyes as Romeo turned to look at me, grinning before continuing his little rant. "Hey, is it true you guys say a prayer before you grease somebody?"

I moved out from behind Romeo seconds before Connor and Murphy lunged, tackling and pinning him to the ground. Murphy clasped a hand over his mouth while Connor put a gun to his head.

"And an awesome wailing was heard throughout heaven…" Connor began.

"As the terrible hand of tha Lord truck upon the earth," Murphy continued.

"And as Almighty God created you," Connor barked, ignoring the way that Romeo thrashed, cries of terror muffled by Murphy's hand. "He calleth you home!"

Connor pulled the trigger, but because the safety was on, all it did was click.

"Whoops," Connor grinned. "Busy signal. We'll hafta calleth back."

The three of us began to laugh, snagging the bottle of tequila from Romeo's nerveless fingers.

"That shit was _not_ funny, man!" Romeo complained.

We laugh harder, passing the bottle around, taking some big sips. I watched as Romeo rolled onto his side, sliding a hand down the back of his pant. He seemed relieved as he muttered, "Oh, thank you, Jesus. Thought I greased my drawers."

If anything that made us laugh even harder as we continued to pass the tequila bottle again. Scowling, Romeo rose to his feet eyeing all of us as though he was in the presence in a celebrity, which, I guess we were.

"Wipe dat look off yer face, Ally," Connor chided handing me the tequila bottle.

"I don't have a look," I murmured.

"Come on," Murphy prodded.

I sat down lighting up a cigarette as Connor and Murphy dropped down on either side of me. Romeo sat down as well looking expectant and excited.

"No," Connor stated, noticing the same thing I had.

"But I got conex all over Bean Town," Romeo complained. "Romeo'll hook you up like a tow truck!"

"No," Murphy said.

"Why not?" Romeo whined.

"We don' 'ave ta give ye reasons," Murphy muttered. "Ferget it."

"It's because I'm Mexican, isn't it?" Romeo demanded.

"'Ow dare ye, sir, insinuate such a thing. Tha fact dat ye're a greasy spic's got nothin' ta do wit' it."

We laughed as Romeo once again scowled at us.

"I'm gonna let you have that one," Romeo rolled his eyes. "Look. I can do this. It's not rocket science. You three find bad guys doing bad shit and you kill them, right?"

"It's not that simple," Connor disagreed.

"Yes, it is," Murphy laughed.

"Aye," I agreed.

"S'pose ye're right," Connor sighed. "I'd sorta hoped we were a little more artistic than dat."

"Well, you ain't," Romeo said. "Can't you guys see it? This shit's fate, man. Like preordained type hit. Mea fucking Culpa! Why do you think you just happened to be in that hatchway today?"

"Oh don' start gettin' all super fuckin' natural on us," Murphy rolled his eyes. "We saw those guys gin in there!"

"Ah ha!" Romeo whooped. "That's what you say. I say it's because Jeeeeeesus wanted it that way!"

"No," Connor stated.

Fine," Romeo sighed. "Then what do you intend to do when you hit U.S soil?"

"We'll go after all of Yakavetta's people and operations till we get ta tha man himself," Connor explained.

"Yeah, work our way up tha food chain," Murphy added on.

Connor and Murphy seemed pleased with themselves as I stomped out my cigarette. I rolled my eyes, wincing when Murphy elbowed me in the side.

"What's your first gig?" Romeo asked. "What's the first thing you're gonna do?"

"Well, we don't have a succinct plan, y'know, per se."

"Yeah," Murphy mumbled. "It's not fully developed yet, y'know, as it were."

"Wot me bro'thers mean ta say is we 'aven't thought dat far ahead," I rolled my eyes.

"You three need to chill in the green room, sip on some Pellegrino's and let your manager handle the details," Romeo said. "And you better get my Cub Scout badge ready. 'Cause if you want to kick Yakavetta in the nuts, let him know you're in town, I got an ace in the hole for ya…"


End file.
